


Mystery and Millinery

by flashofthefuse



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Suicide, repost of deleted work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 19:09:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12372168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashofthefuse/pseuds/flashofthefuse
Summary: Nearly two years into an ongoing relationship Phryne and Jack reach a defining moment while stumbling upon a mystery.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leafingbookstea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leafingbookstea/gifts).



> This work was originally posted as part of the 2016 Phryne Fic-athon and was inspired by a prompt from the following newspaper article.
> 
> 1931  
> Sydney Morning Herald  
> MELBOURNE, Monday.  
> Having Inquired to-day into the death of Dorothy Millar Downie, 37, of Carlton, the City Coroner (Mr. D. Grant) found that she had taken her own life on December l8. She was found with her head resting on top of a gas stove In the kitchen of her home, and died two hours later. In a letter she had written she stated that there was no possible help for her but death. She asked that an invention of a patent hat band, which she had submitted to the manager of a hat mills, but which had been rejected, should be left  
> to her two boys.
> 
> Since this prompt came from a real article, names have been changed to protect (most likely unnecessarily) any descendants of the actual people involved.

**Prologue**

* * *

 

“This is the last time.”

He looked at the man’s greying head, bent over the desk, and watched over his shoulder to make sure it was the amount they’d agreed upon. He’d known, even before hearing it said, that it really would be the last one. He’d bled this horse dry, which left him with no alternative, really.

He pulled the small vile from his pocket, gave it a good shake to agitate its occupant, then quickly uncorked the top and set the opening against the older man’s neck.

Dennis Martin clapped his hand to the origin of a sudden, sharp pain. He looked around at the man standing behind him, his eyes widening with astonished recognition at what was happening. It was coming on even faster this time, and much worse. He struggled to breathe.

“Why?” he gasped. There was no answer.

He felt his heart begin to race. He grabbed for the phone, but it was immediately ripped from his hand. He rose from his desk trying to make it to the door, growing more lightheaded with each step. A sense of impending doom came over him as he fell, his lungs clawing desperately for air. He felt someone stepping over his prone body, watching as the feet calmly walked out of the room, and then, everything went dark.

 

**Chapter 1**

 

“The secretary said he was in the office when she left and she found him this morning. The office door was locked. She had to use her key to get in, so it would seem he was there alone. She said he often worked late. Looked like he had some kind of medical emergency. The coroner’s got the body now.”

“Thank you, constable,” Jack said, “Let me know when we hear from next of kin about making a formal identification.”

“Of course, sir,”

“And Collins, please see that I’m not disturbed for the next thirty minutes,” he said, following Hugh to the office door and closing it behind him. For good measure, he turned the lock.

Jack was out in the field more often than many Senior Detective Inspectors, but sometimes it was good to be boss and have the option of delegating work. Today, he’d taken advantage of it, sending Hugh out as the lead on the call regarding a deceased man. The rest of the morning had been blessedly quiet and there’d been nothing to bring him from his office other than a refill of his cup of tea. Not that he’d been idle. He’d spent the time dutifully clearing case files from his desk. He’d been at it for several hours already and his eyes were beginning to feel the strain.

He loosened his tie, opening the top button at his collar, put his feet up on the desk, and leaned back in his chair. It wasn’t a particularly comfortable way to rest, but he’d slept in harsher conditions and could catch a brief nap just about anywhere. He wasn’t optimistic his senior constable would be able to hold back the tide for the entire thirty minutes but he’d be happy if he were allowed to shut his eyes for just ten, or maybe fifteen.

He’d slept badly last night. His own fault really. He could have gone to her. She’d told him he was welcome, but he’d had to work so late into the night and be up before dawn. He hadn’t wanted to inconvenience her. He also worried that if he was always around and underfoot, she’d grow tired of him.

He’d tried to keep a barrier between his life and hers, a sort of demarcation line, so that she’d never feel weighed down by his love, but lately, the line had blurred considerably.

They were coming up on two years together and rarely spent a night apart anymore, splitting the time between their two residences. Usually at her place, but she’d been in his home often enough that he could now feel her there even when she wasn’t around.

She had her own little corner in his bath where she kept a collection of things including her preferred soap and a toothbrush. A small bottle of her favorite perfume sat upon his dresser and in his closet hung several articles of her clothing all having migrated there over the course of their relationship. He would’ve thought having her things around him would’ve only made him miss her more, but instead it gave him a feeling of contentment.

Which was another worry. If things ended, what was now a source of joy would turn into a bitter reminder of what he’d lost.

That was one of the reasons he’d made an effort not to let too many of his own things invade her home, despite her suggestions that having a suit or two in her closet might be convenient.

If she ever did decide she needed her freedom, he couldn’t imagine having to go to her home to collect his things, or worse yet, have them dropped at his door by her cabbies.

Last night, when he’d found it so hard to sleep without her, he’d actually considered dabbing a drop of her perfume on the extra pillow in his bed. That’s when he’d known he was becoming too dependent on her. He felt he was playing a dangerous game that had reached some kind of tipping point.

He settled back into his chair now, trying to clear his mind. He was just overly tired and thinking too much. Ten minutes of shut-eye was what he needed.

 _*THUD*_ “Ow!”

The door shook in its frame and a short burst of obscenities followed the cry of pain. Jack sprang to his feet and rushed around the desk to unlock and pull open his office door. She pushed her way into the room, rubbing at a spot on her forehead, her hat uncharacteristically askew.

“Why is this door locked?” she said, irritably.

“Phryne! Are you all right? What are you doing here? I thought you had a luncheon.” He pulled the hat from her head and looked closely for bump or bruise. His fingers trailed lightly over her forehead, but found no swelling.

Finally convinced she was unharmed, he waved his hand at the chair opposite his in invitation for her to sit. She dismissed that seat and followed him around to perch herself atop the desk at his side.

She was dressed demurely and entirely appropriately for a charity luncheon amid a group of old Melbourne society but there still was something just a little daring and uniquely Phryne about it. Her hemline was perhaps half an inch too short, the cut of her skirt expertly skimmed her figure. The neckline of her silk blouse dipped suggestively, but not enough to be tawdry. He wondered if there would ever be a time when he looked at her and didn’t immediately have his breath stolen from his lungs. She crossed her legs and his hand reached reflexively to caress her ankle.

“I just stopped by on my way to the luncheon.”

He watched her taking in his loosened tie and open collar. Just her eyes on him had his heart fluttering. Her eyebrows floated up into the fringe of hair as her lips curved.

“Tell me, Inspector, what were you doing that required a locked door?” She shifted infinitesimally closer to him and he felt his heart rate increase further.

“I was just trying to catch a few minutes shut-eye. I slept badly last night,” he said,

“Funny, I had the same problem. For some reason my bed felt enormous, and far too cold,” she said, leaning in close, her lips dangerously near his. She dropped a newspaper onto the desktop.

“Why haven’t you mentioned this?” she asked, accusingly.

He tore his eyes from her mouth and looked down at the paper. Flipping it over he saw that it bore today’s date. He flipped it back, scanning the area she’d folded to expose, wondering which of the articles was suppose to be of interest to him and, subsequently, her.

He dismissed the one entitled ‘SEAMAN’S UNION’ not being able to fathom why she’d be interested in the particulars of that. There was a story about Reso Train tours, and another stating that someone had complained about the Randwick Council placing posts in the approach to the Coogee Baths. She waited quietly, her arms crossed over her chest as he read. Finally, he poked his finger at one, small notice.

“You mean this? It read: Woman’s Suicide — Having inquired today into the death of...” he didn’t need to read further, he had already been briefed on the case. An inquest this morning had confirmed the death, by suicide, of a 33 year old woman from Carlton two weeks prior.

“Did you know about it?”

“Of course. Why the interest?” He asked, though he was afraid he already knew the answer.

‘I’m just surprised you never mentioned it.”

An amused smirk curled his lips upward.

“Why should I mention a suicide? Am I to discuss everything that crosses my desk with you, Miss Fisher? Would you like to hear about the drunk and disorderly I dealt with yesterday? Oh! I had to send Collins out at the crack of dawn to chase a goat that had escaped its pen. That one was pretty amusing.”

She tsked in irritation. “This death seems suspicious, Jack.”

“Sweetheart.” He hoped he wasn’t coming off as condescending. “I know you’re bored, and that we haven’t had an interesting case in weeks, but you’ve got to stop finding murder where there is none. This was a suicide, plain and simple. She was found with the gas turned on in her kitchen.”

She bristled at the implication that she was wasting his time. She had an odd feeling about this one.

“Are you sure it was suicide? Did Mac have a look at the body? You’ve said yourself she’s better than Brandt.”

“I never meant to imply that Brandt’s incompetent. He is the Carlton City coroner. The death was in his jurisdiction. It would have been insulting to pull it out from under him for no good reason. And there was no good reason. She was a single mother, widowed. No basis for thinking anyone might have wanted her dead. On top of that, she left a note.”

“Yes. The note. It mentioned a hat band.”

“What of it?”

“Jack. The woman just earned a patent on an invention that could make her rich. Why would she kill herself?”

“How do you know it would have made her rich? Plenty of patents lead to nothing. Her note said she saw no possible help but death. She was clearly in a bad place emotionally.”

“How was she discovered?”

“Her sister lives next door. She found her in time to call an ambulance, but unfortunately the woman died a short while later. She never regained consciousness but the note makes her intentions quite clear. It’s sad, Phryne, but not murder.”

“How old are the children?”

“Nine and seven,” Jack said, consulting the file.

“So young! A mother would have to be quite desperate to leave them at those ages.”

“At any age, I’d suppose, but times are desperate. People do desperate things. Sergeant Parker caught the case. He was very thorough, and briefed me this morning after the inquest. You now know everything I do regarding it.” He raised the file in his hand, holding it out to her. “If it will help, you’re free to look at it yourself.”

She took the slim folder, frowning slightly as she scrutinized its sparse contents. There was nothing remarkable at first blush.

“It just seems off to me, Jack.”

He usually trusted her instincts, they were uncanny, but this time, he thought she was grasping at straws. It had been eerily quiet on the major crime front of late and she was restless. He’d have liked a case to work with her as well, but he didn’t believe that snippet in the paper revealed anything nefarious. Still, he didn’t see any harm in indulging her a little.

“Take the file. Look it over, but please, don’t go overboard asking a lot of questions. I wouldn’t want it to get back to my sergeant, and make him think I don’t have trust in him.”

“You know me, Jack. I’m nothing if not discreet. Just bring the file along to dinner. We can look at it together.”

“I don’t know, Phryne.” His earlier fears of being too dependent on her returned. If he went to dinner, he’d want to stay the night. In fact, he realized he come to expect that, and he never wanted to be so presumptuous. A night in her bed should require an explicit invitation.

“What do you mean? Aren’t you coming tonight? Do you have other plans?”

“It’s not that,” he said. She tilted her head with a look that said she expected an explanation.

“There’ve been a lot of late nights recently. I feel like they’re catching up with me.”

“You can go to bed whenever you’d like. I won’t mind. I know you have to rise earlier than I. If you’d only bring a bit more of your things with you, you wouldn’t have to leave so very early in the morning. You really should have at least a suit or two at mine. You’re there more than half the time anyway.” Now she felt like she was pleading with him, which grated on her. “How often must I make this suggestion?” She said irritably.

“I just don’t think it’d be wise.” He shook his head stubbornly. The look on his face pushed her over the edge she’d been teetering on.

“I don’t understand this, Jack,” she persisted, trying to keep her calm. “I only want you to be comfortable in my home.”

“I’m not uncomfortable, and I have left a few things there, but to have a substantial amount of my belongings taking up residence in your home would feel too—”

“Too permanent?” she suggested, her cool quickly dissipating. “We’re going on two years, Jack. Do you still require the ability to make a quick exit?”

“What? Of course not! You know that’s not it. I’ve explained this.”

“Yes, and don’t feel the need to explain it again,” she snapped, rising from his desk and turning for the door. She’d had enough of this argument. “Come if you want, or don’t. Stay, or leave. I won’t beg. Ours has always been an open arrangement. You’re not obligated to me.”

He reeled back as though slapped.

“Phryne, wait!” He went after her, taking hold of her upper arm and turning him toward him. “It’s not that I don’t want to come. You misunderstand.”

“Do I? How do you think it makes me feel, Jack? To always be the one doing the asking? To repeatedly tell you that I want you with me only to hear excuse after excuse about why you can’t do that?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to be with you. You know I do, I just don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Overwhelm me? What does that even mean? I’m getting rather tired of hearing that your actions are always out of concern for what you think I might want.

“Do you think that what you want is it of no concern to me? Maybe I’ve misunderstood what we’re doing here. I thought we were in this together but if you have one foot out the door, Jack, I’d like to know now.”

He felt upended and entirely wrong-footed.

“What?! No! I love you, Phryne. I don’t want an escape but I know you need your freedom, that’s all I meant.”

“I see. You think I’m the one that might want an escape and you’re prepared to let me off the hook. How wonderful you are, Jack,” she mocked, “still the man of honor, doing the right thing.” Even she was surprised by the bitterness in her tone. She’d not realized she was so resentful.

He looked stricken. His hand dropped from where it had been holding her and he took a step back. He opened his mouth, unsure what to say, or if he could even speak at all.

The utter devastation in his eyes softened her heart. She took a step toward him, reaching out her hand.

“Sir?” Constable Collins appeared in the doorway.

“I hate to interrupt, sir, but there’s a call for you.” Hugh looked extremely uncomfortable and very sorry to be standing there. Especially when the Inspector turned his gaze on him.

“Take a message, Collins,” he growled.

“I would, sir, but it’s the Deputy Commissioner.”

Jack ran his hands over his face in utter frustration.

“Go on,” Phryne said, quietly. “I know you have to take it.”

“No this is important Phryne, I—”

“It’s all right, Jack. I understand.”

“But, I’ve upset you.”

“I’m fine. Now is not the time for this. You’re working. We’ll talk later.”

“Tonight? Am I still welcome for supper?”

“Always,” she replied, resting her hand lightly on his chest. His hand came up to cover it, his eyes searching hers with uncertainty. She felt a lump rise in her throat and turned away quickly before her emotions got the better of her.

Back in her car, she felt weary and deflated. As she approached the turn that would lead her to the charity lunch, she found she couldn’t take it. She was in no mood to sit through an afternoon of speakers extolling the virtues of the cause du jour. It was undoubtedly a worthy cause, there was no shortage of those these days, but she really couldn’t bring herself to care. She’d send her apologies tomorrow, with some vague excuse and a big check, and all would be forgiven.

She turned her car toward the club, in search of Mac.

* * *

 

Jack hung up the phone after a completely unnecessary recitation of information he knew the DC already had in his hands in the form of a very detailed report. In other words, the phone call had been a complete waste of time. As usual.

His eyes fell to the desktop and he noticed that Phryne had left behind the slim file folder containing the details of the suicide that had piqued her interest. He put it aside, planning to bring it along with him to her house tonight.

An uneasy feeling settled over him. She’d said he was still welcome but she’d been so angry with him, and hurt. The things she’d said had left him cold.

How had she ever got the impression he was hesitant or looking for an out? They may have taken their time in finally getting around to things but once they had, it had been intense and she knew he was committed to her.

In fact, he thought he’d been very open-minded. He’d adapted to her way of doing things. He didn’t regret that but it wasn’t what he’d envisioned for his life. To be with her, he’d put aside any thoughts of marriage. From the beginning he’d understood she might pursue the occasional dalliance and had asked only that she be good enough to tell him first, so that he wouldn’t be blindsided.

He realized now that they’d never had that conversation.

From the very start she’d thrown herself into their relationship with the energy she brought to everything in her life.

Even without the security of marriage he never doubted her and he’d never felt more wanted. Even on nights they weren’t together, the nights she went out to her clubs, she’d often find her way to his home and into his bed when the evening ended. He certainly never minded the times she awakened him in the night but there was something really wonderful about the nights she didn’t.

There’d been mornings he’d awakened to find her curled up in his bed and it was an incredible feeling to realize that she’d snuck into his house only because she wanted to sleep by his side. He’d eventually given her a copy of his key and she’d made good use of it since.

If he had a day off she’d stay the whole day with him and usually the next night as well. Those were his favorite times. He loved waking up with her and the quiet domesticity of breakfasting together and planning how they would spend their day. He was always careful to remind himself of what a treat it was, and not take it for granted, but when she was there, and they were together, it felt right.

It was right. It was the days they spent apart that felt wrong. And that was on him. She’d willingly integrated her life with his, and what had he done for her?

He’d bought himself a couple of new shirts and begrudgingly let her purchase a razor for him to keep in her bath. He’d repeatedly refused her invitation to move more of his things in, finding one excuse after another. He slipped out of her bed at the crack of dawn to go home and change, and he never surprised her with his presence, instead waiting for a specific invitation from her. His reasoning was always the same; that it’d be presumptuous of him to assume she’d always be free to welcome him.

He felt slightly sick at this realization. He’d believed he was being thoughtful and letting her steer the relationship. But, all his reasons for keeping his life separate from hers now seemed feeble and had an air of reluctance about them that she couldn’t have helped but feel.

She was right about another thing, too. Privately, he did think himself a little noble for being so open about the possibility of her taking another lover.

But his constant insistence that she was free, when she never asked to be, wasn’t noble. It was the height of hubris. It implied that her freedom was something he had power to grant.

Had he really been acting magnanimously, or was it a form of self-protection, because somewhere, deep down he still expected her to leave him?

No wonder she was so upset with him. He’d always imagined himself to be the one more in love, more committed, but from the outside looking in, he did appear to have one foot out the door. Though more accurately, it was that he’d been afraid to take that final step through it.

He picked up the phone to call her before remembering she was on her way to that charity lunch and wouldn’t be in. He decided to place the call anyway. It might even be easier this way since he wasn’t sure yet what he intended to say to her. He would leave word as to what time to expect him. Then, before going to her, he’d stop home and pack a few things. And tonight, he’d make sure she knew just how much she meant to him, and he’d stay. He’d stay as long as she’d have him.


	2. Chapter 2

If Mac was surprised to see Phryne, she didn’t let on, nor did she comment on the gloomy mood. She simply poured Phryne a drink and then soundly beat her at billiards. Twice.

“Want to try that again?” she asked, “you don’t seem to be having much luck today.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Phryne replied, racking the balls in answer to the challenge, “my mind is elsewhere.”

“Obviously,” Mac replied.

“What do you know about Virginia Dresden?”

“The name sounds familiar,” Mac said, “who is she?”

“An apparent suicide. There was a notice about the inquest in the paper this morning.”

“Oh, yes. I remember hearing something about that,” Mac said. Phryne had missed her last shot and set Mac up for a long run. After pocketing several balls, she straightened, leaning on the pool cue. “Why do you say apparent? I thought the inquest was conclusive? Do the police suspect otherwise?”

“No,” Phryne answered vaguely.

“But you do?”

“Perhaps.”

“Any reason why?”

“Just a feeling. Did you have any connection to the case?”

“None at all. Brandt did the postmortem. If he ruled suicide I have no reason to doubt it. He knows what he’s doing.”

“That’s what Jack said. He thinks I’m being ridiculous,” she said, peevishly.

“Jack said you were being ridiculous?” This, Mac thought, must be the reason for the sour mood.

“No. He just said there was no evidence to suggest anything but suicide, and offered to let me have the case file to see if I could find otherwise.”

“How unreasonable of him,” Mac teased. Phryne missed another shot. “Come on! You’re not even trying!” This turn, Mac cleared the table.

There wasn’t much point in another game—Phryne’s head was clearly not in it—so they refreshed their drinks and headed out to the patio where Mac lit up a cigarette and sat down quietly next to Phryne on the bench under the large wattle, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She was pretty sure a not so mysterious suicide wasn’t the reason Phryne had skipped her luncheon and sought out a friend today.

“I don’t know how I got here, Mac,” she said, finally, stealing the cigarette from out of Mac’s hand and taking a long drag.

“Lapse of memory is a serious complaint, but I imagine you drove here. And probably faster than you should have.”

Phryne pulled a face.

“You’re the only one I can tell this to,” she began, as though she were about to impart some terrible secret. “I’m in deep, Mac. I really love him.”

“Good lord, I hope I’m not really the only one you can tell. You do mention it to him on occasion, don’t you? And, for your information, this isn’t exactly breaking news. Some of us had already noticed.”

“But, it’s surprising, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” Mac shrugged. “What was more surprising was how long it took.”

“Come on Mac! This is me we’re talking about. I’ve always said I’d never commit myself to a man,” Phryne went to take another pull on the cigarette, but stopped, looking at it in disgust, and stubbing it out roughly.

“Hey! Those aren’t free!” Mac groused, pulling another one from her pack and lighting it. Navigating Phryne’s love life wasn’t high on the list of things she wanted to do on her day off, in fact, it didn’t make the list at all, but she resigned herself to the unwanted conversation because, clearly, Phryne needed to work something out.

“Phryne,” she said seriously, “you’ve done very well in steering clear of anyone that would require a commitment of you, but you’re not an island. You never were. You surround yourself with people you love and you’re a dedicated friend. Why should it be such a surprise that a good man, who respects you for who you are, and happens to love you madly, should make his way into the fold? You and Jack are good together.”

“Do you really think so?” Phryne said, sounding a bit stunned.

“Is this just now sinking in?” Mac said, amused. “Typical. The only people that don’t seem to know how married you and Robinson are is—well, you and Robinson.”

“Married?”

“For all intents and purposes.”

“I realize he’s been my only lover for awhile, but I think you’re exaggerating things a bit.”

“You could take a dozen lovers and it wouldn’t matter, but the fact that you haven’t speaks volumes.”

“I haven’t yet,” Phryne said, “I may still. He half expects it.”

“That bothers you, doesn’t it?” Mac asked, feeling they were finally getting to the crux of the problem.

“Oh. Let’s talk of something else.”

“Like trying to make a suicide a murder? If you like.”

“What do you think would happen if I did take a new lover?”

“I’ve no idea,” Mac said. “What do you think would happen?”

“Nothing. That’s what would happen. I’d tell Jack that I wanted to bed another man and he’d give me that knowing, patient look as though he’d always been awaiting the day, and then he’d tell me that if I wanted to return to him, he’d be there. Jack Robinson, the martyr. The long suffering lover of the impetuous and fickle Phryne Fisher,” she said, bitterly.

“It seems we’ve struck a nerve,” Mac said, “what brought this on?”

“We had an bit of an argument.”

“That can’t be unusual.”

“It is actually. We bicker and disagree, of course, but this was different. I didn’t even realize until I’d begun how angry I am with him.”

“About what?”

Phryne thought about it. She wasn’t sure she could articulate just what was bothering her, but Mac waited patiently for her to find her voice.

“He won’t leave his things at my house,” she pouted.

Mac had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. Phryne in love could be rather entertaining at times.

“Is that all? Have you invited him to?”

“Repeatedly. He has one hundred and one of the silliest excuses. He says he hasn’t enough of a wardrobe to spare, or that he doesn’t want me to feel smothered, or who knows what else. They’re all hog wash.”

“In his defense, not everyone has a wardrobe as extensive as yours. In fact, I’m pretty sure that man only owns one pair of shoes.”

“Why are you taking his side?”

“Are there sides in this? If so, I’m Switzerland. Why is it so important to you where he keeps his things, anyway?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Okay. Then, answer this—what would be different if he did have more of his _‘things’_ at your home?”

“Well, he’d be free to stay without having to rush off in the morning. He could have a nightcap without checking his watch every half hour and waiting for me to offer an invitation to my bed. It’d just make things easier.”

“And, these are the arguments you’ve given him? The ones he’s rejected?”

“More or less. He’s just so stubborn.”

“Mmm, hmm. Have you thought about telling him what you really want? He might find that more compelling,” Mac said, lifting her head and blowing smoke rings up, and away on the breeze.

“Would you mind telling me what it is I’m supposed to want?”

“All right, but don’t shoot the messenger. You want to live with him.”

“What?”

“You want him to move in. You want him in your bed when you fall asleep and when you wake up. You want to sit in your parlor with him at night, talking or reading or whatever else it is you two do in there. You want to share your life with him,” Mac said. “Now, try to sit there and tell me this doesn’t appeal to you.”

Phryne’s heart beat like butterfly under glass and her eyes darted around wildly.

“Don’t panic now,” Mac taunted, “you’ve been doing so well.”

“What are you talking about? You’re being ridiculous. I just want him to be comfortable in my home. I’m not ready to settle down!”

Now Mac did laugh. “You already are settled down! Once you’d made up your mind, I watched you jump into this thing with both feet. You showed no hesitation, held nothing back, and that’s how I knew it was right. You love that man, and he loves you. You want to spend the rest of your days together? Then do it. Live together. Hell, get married. No one’s going to make you turn in your independent woman’s card. Least of all Jack.”

“But, how would that work? I’ve always said I’d never...”

“Phryne,” Mac interrupted, “don’t you think society puts enough arbitrary restrictions on us? What is the point in adding more ourselves? He makes you happy.”

Phryne envisioned the life Mac had alluded to. Where she could come home after having unraveled a difficult investigation, find him waiting in the parlor, and instantly regale him with her brilliance.

She remembered how good it felt to be there for him when he’d had a difficult day. To sit by his side and listen or not, if he didn’t want to talk. She knew it helped. She’d seen the way the weight fell off his shoulders when he came through the door. They were good together and she wanted him. Not his things. Him.

“What if he doesn’t want this?” she said anxiously.

“You’re Phryne Fisher,” Mac declared, flicking the butt of her cigarette to the ground. She stood up and crushed it with the sole of her shoe. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“But, do you think he will want to make it legal?” Phryne said, in the voice of a terrified child. “I mean, I could see the living together, but, marriage?”

“You’re my area of expertise,” Mac answered, “Jack Robinson is your arena. Come on. I want another drink.”

Phryne sat in contemplative silence for a moment, then followed Mac in, drained the last of her glass and handed it over for a refill.

“Just out of curiosity, how long would it take someone to suffocate and die using the method Virginia Dresden chose? And, is there any chance we could still get a look at the body?”

Mac shook her head, wondering why she was even surprised anymore by the speed with which Phryne switched gears. She set down the bottle mid-pour and headed for the door, turning back when she realized Phryne wasn’t following.

“We’re going to the morgue,” she explained, “you won’t let it go until you see for yourself, and I’m not going to let take over my whole day.”

* * *

 

“I think your super sleuth senses might be off on this one.” Mac said. They were standing in front of the body of Virginia Dresden. Mac had carefully examined every inch under Phryne’s watchful eye, and was now flipping thorough the autopsy notes.

“Admittedly it was a rather cursory post-mortem, but there was no suspicious bruising on the body. I see nothing to contradict the finding of suicide.”

“But you’d have been more thorough?”

“I’m not saying that. Really Phryne, without evidence to suggest anything other than a suicide, I don’t know that I’d have done any more than Brandt.”

“Do you trust the ruling?”

“I’m not about to go second guessing my colleagues for no good reason. Brandt says it’s suicide. He’s a good doctor,” Mac stated.

Phryne hated to admit defeat. She’d been so sure there was more to this story, but maybe Jack was right. Maybe she was simply bored and seeing things that weren’t there.

“Yes, and there was the note,” Phryne said, slightly deflated. “Well, I suppose this is the lesser of two pretty horrible outcomes. It was never going to have a happy ending. I wonder what will become of the children. There’s a sister. Maybe she will be able to keep them.”

“Phryne, you needn’t worry about the whole world,” Mac said gently.

She nodded, but made a mental note to ask Jack about it. She knew he’d have looked into it rather than just leaving it to welfare. She lifted the edges of the sheet and reverently covered the body of the deceased woman. She often acted cavalierly around the corpses she came across in her work, and she knew she had a sort of macabre curiosity, but she never failed to see the humanity in the lifeless forms.

She enjoyed untangling the mysteries, but part of her drive to solve crimes was the desire to seek justice for those unfairly taken before their time. She’d seen too much of that in the war, where seeking justice had been an impossibility. There was no justification on all this earth for the destruction she’d witnessed. If there was to no justice to be found for Virginia Dresden, Phryne hoped that at least the woman had found peace.

“Well, what now? Back to the club?” Mac asked hopefully as they made their way down the corridor. Before Phryne had a chance to answer, a door to the left opened and they found themselves face to face with Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. Jack halted in his tracks, as did the man at his side.

“Miss Fisher. Doctor,” Jack said calmly, nodding in greeting to the two women.

Neither Phryne nor Jack showed any outward surprise, or discomfort at seeing each other. It was only because she knew them as well as she did that Mac noticed the intensity in the way they gazed at each other and felt the tension between them.

“Phryne?”

The man with Jack had spoken, breaking the slightly awkward silence, and for the first time drawing notice.

“Topper! What are you doing here?”

“It’s, um, my brother,” he mumbled, gesturing toward the door he and Jack had just exited. Phryne’s eyes went wide with stunned recognition.

“Your brother? Oh dear! I’m so sorry, whatever happened?”

“Not really sure,” he said, vaguely. He shivered, either from shock or the general chill that pervaded the morgue.

“Perhaps we might want to move out of this area? Mr. Martin might be more comfortable elsewhere,” Jack suggested.

“Of course,” Phryne said, coming forward and taking the man’s arm. She led him toward the staircase, away from the cold, grey halls. Leaving Jack and Mac to follow behind.

Mac felt the anxiety radiating off Jack, though he walked with his usual sure, and purposeful strides. Phryne walked ahead, chatting sympathetically with the bereaved man. Only the set of her shoulders gave witness to the tension in her bones. What these two did to each other was ridiculous.

“She does love you, you know. Though she might not always say it the way you expect,” Mac said quietly.

Jack’s head snapped to her. His momentary look of surprise changed quickly to embarrassment, and to Mac’s astonishment, he blushed.

“Just talk to her,” Mac said, “and really listen for a change.”

Jack opened his mouth to protest the unfairness of that statement, but given his recent realizations, he knew he didn’t have much of an argument.

They stepped outside into the temperate air of the late November afternoon and gathered on the sidewalk in front of the hospital.

“I just saw him,” the bereaved man was saying in a hollow, disbelieving tone. “I don’t know how I’ll tell mother.” As though this thought had suddenly awoken him, he jerked upward, looking at Jack. “Is there anything else you need from me Inspector? I should go to her.”

“Nothing right now, Mr. Martin. Thank you for coming so promptly. If we have further questions, after the examination, I trust you’ll make yourself available?”

“Examination? You mean there will be an autopsy?” He asked, horrified. “Surely there’s no need. Mother will be most upset.”

‘It’s standard procedure after a sudden, unexplained death. Unless you can shed light on your brother’s condition? Was he ill?”

The body had certainly showed signs of some kind of medical emergency.

“No. Not that I know of.”

“We take great care during these procedures,” Mac stepped forward, placing her hand reassuringly on the man’s arm. “You’re loved one will be treated with the utmost respect.”

“Yes,” Phryne said soothingly, “Losing someone so suddenly is traumatic, but it can actually be of comfort to understand what happened. Let everyone do their job. You should go and comfort your mother. She’ll need you.”

Bernard “Topper” Martin, still looking absolutely bewildered, nodded to the trio before walking away. Mac looked from Phryne to Jack and realized her presence was suddenly superfluous to the gathering.

“Well, I’ll just go check on—oh, hell, come find me when you’re done,” she said to Phryne, and made a quick exit. Jack turned and walked slowly toward the sidewalk. Phryne fell in step beside him.

“So, Miss Fisher, were your suspicions of foul play confirmed?” He asked, tilting his head toward her and smirking.

“Not exactly.” She slipped her hand around his bicep. He bent at the elbow and drew her hand close to his side. “It seems you were right and I was wrong, Jack.”

“I never said that.” There was a moment of slightly awkward silence. “Am I forgiven, Phryne?”

“For what?”

“You were upset with me. And you were right to be. I think I’ve been behaving thoughtlessly.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“You don’t know if I’ve been thoughtless, or you’re not upset with me?”

“Maybe you are, at times, thoughtless, and I suppose I was upset, but I don’t expect you know why. Even I don’t understand the whole of it.”

“Is it that you think I’ve been reluctant? I can see where I might have left that impression, but I’m not, Phryne. I promise I’m not. I misguidedly thought I was being—well, gentlemanly, I suppose. I thought I shouldn’t make assumptions.”

“After all this time I think you can presume a little, don’t you? I shouldn’t always have to ask, and ask, and ask.”

“You’re absolutely right. I’ll try to do better. I will do better,” He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You will give me another chance, won’t you?”

He looked so contrite she thought her heart might burst.

“Of course, Jack! Did you think I was through with you? You are a ridiculous man sometimes. It was just a silly little argument.”

“It’s not silly. You said some things I needed to hear.”

“I said some things that were unkind.”

“But not untrue. I did think I was being noble and understanding. I didn’t realize how much I was letting my fears drive me.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Honestly?”

“I’d prefer it to a lie.”

“I’m afraid of how very much I love you. You’re the best thing in my life.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Jack.” She felt a little lightheaded and stepped closer to him, reaching up to adjust his tie, needing to touch him to stay grounded. “Come for supper tonight, darling.”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve already left word with Mr. Butler to expect me. And I plan to stop home for some things I’ll need in the morning. I hope that’s not too presumptuous?”

“More like a step in the right direction,” she said, gripping his lapels and tugging him toward her just a tiny bit. His eyes flashed briefly with a heat that warmed her to the core. She so wanted to pull him to her and kiss him, but knew it was inappropriate. He was on the job. She released him, smoothing the lapels she’d crumpled.

“Get back to work, Inspector. I don’t want you to be late.”

Topper Martin stood on the green across the street, shielded from view by a large hedge. At first he’d been surprised to see Phryne Fisher at the morgue. But then he remembered the stories of her work as a detective. He supposed that could explain her presence. Then, as he’d walked away, he’d overheard bits of conversation that worried him. That Inspector’s voice did carry, and he’d heard him say something about suspicions of foul play.

He watched Phryne and the man, with their heads together, clearly having an intense conversation. He wished he were close enough to hear, but to move nearer might draw their attention and then he’d have to explain himself.

The longer he watched, the more convinced he was that whatever had brought her here had nothing to do with his brother. He might not be able to hear what was being said, but the couple’s body language spoke loudly enough. He wasn’t surprised by what he saw. He’d heard stories of that side of the woman’s reputation too.

She watched until the police cruiser pull away from the curb and then turned back toward the hospital. He ducked completely behind the hedge as she passed, then strolled away to his own automobile.

Mac saw Phryne and was heading her way when she heard someone calling her name. She thought to ignore it. It was her day off, after all.

“Dr. MacMillan!” The call became more persistent.

“Damn,” she swore, turning back. “You know, Angela, I’m not actually on today.” The pretty, young nurse skidded to a stop in front of her.

“I know. I’m sorry, but Dr. Brandt is in surgery and the poor woman’s been waiting.”

“What woman is that?” Mac inquired, as Phryne drew to her side.

“It’s the sister of a suicide from a couple weeks ago. She was at the inquest today and wanted to speak to the examining doctor.”

“Probably just wants to know when she’ll have the body for burial.” Mac said, “but it’s not my case anyway. Why don’t you take her number and tell her Brandt will give her a call later.”

“I suggested that. She seems to really want to speak with someone and I’ve no idea how much longer he’ll be. Couldn’t you see her? I think she might have a few questions about the inquest results and just wants to hear from a doctor.”

Mac felt Phryne’s hand suddenly on her arm, giving it an imploring squeeze. Mac gave her an incredulous look.

“I thought you were satisfied,” she said.

“I am. Mostly. But, the poor woman has lost a loved one and needs some reassuring. I’m sure it won’t take a moment,” Phryne insisted.

Angela nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

“Lead the way,” Mac sighed, rolling her eyes. Two against one. It wasn’t fair.

* * *

 

Fred Taylor sat nursing his beer. It was unusual to have a day off work in the middle of the week, and he knew he should have stayed home with Fannie. The inquest had upset her and she was still struggling with all the recent upheaval, but the house was so chaotic, and he’d needed a quieter place to think.

He turned the business card over in his hand. The man had made promises in return for the help he’d provided, but if the sale didn’t go through, none of that mattered. He hoped he was right about the younger Martin, and that he might be amenable where his older brother hadn’t been. Dennis Martin had been a decent boss, and his death was unfortunate, but the man had held him down with his insistence on overseeing every move made at the factory. At least now there was a chance he might finally be able to run things his way, and earn the recognition and remuneration he deserved.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a tiring afternoon. Jack had returned to the station to a message from Deputy Commissioner Cooper. It wasn’t surprising but it was tiresome. He returned the call and had, of course, been told the DC was unavailable and would call again. Jack knew it was a power play. Now he’d have to sit at his desk and wait for the return call. If he was unavailable when it came, he’d be in for a dressing down.

This little dance had become something of a routine since Thaddeus Cooper had risen to the rank of Deputy Commissioner about a year earlier. It was due partly to the fact that there were some at Russell Street who’d have liked to have seen Jack get the job. Not many, but enough to make Cooper insecure. Mostly, though, it was because Cooper just didn’t like Jack. He thought Jack had crossed a line by exposing the department to ridicule after the Pandarus incident.

As a result, he liked to call Jack out over reports, questioning his methods and deductions. Nothing ever came of it. No conclusion of a case was ever found wanting, but the man would persist in setting out hoops to jump through, and there wasn’t a thing Jack could do about it.

It took until the end of the day, slightly past the end of his shift, for the call to come through and then Jack had been required to needlessly walk Cooper through a recent report almost line by line for over half an hour.

He was in a bit of a foul mood by the time he headed home, but as he packed a bag and headed to Phryne’s it began to lift. He was relieved that she’d seemed to accept his apology and he was determined to make whatever changes necessary to make her happy. She wasn’t at home when he arrived, but Mr. Butler greeted him as a welcome and expected presence and offered to take his bag upstairs and unpack it for him. Jack declined, preferring to take it up to Phryne’s bedroom himself.

He timidly removed his suit from the bag, but couldn’t bring himself to hang it in her closet. He hung it from a hook on the wall then set the case with the rest of his things down on the floor near the bed. Small steps, he thought, exhaling heavily.

It was odd that he felt so unsure. He was very comfortable in her home, but for some reason, the bedroom was the one place that felt slightly off limits. Maybe because it was so very much her space, with so many of her personal items on display. He realized he’d never been in the room without her before.

He went to await Phryne in the parlor and was gratified to find a cocktail on the table by his usual spot, along with the evening paper. He sank down into the chair, taking a sip of the delicious drink and felt himself begin to unwind.

He opened the paper to the society page and quickly found a picture of Phryne, looking radiant alongside her stout little aunt at some charity function or another. He often teased her about her frequent appearances in these pages, but he did enjoy looking at the pictures. Even the ones with a rumored beau at her side.

As Jack was admiring her image, Phryne arrived home. She entered through the kitchen and went straight to the parlor when Mr. Butler informed her that Jack was waiting. She stopped in the doorway watching him. He sat casually, in his shirtsleeves, his legs crossed at the knee. The newspaper hid his face from view. He looked perfectly at ease, but something was not quite right.

It's the chair, she realized. It was a tad delicate for his frame. He didn’t look uncomfortable, but it just wasn't right.

She realized that when she pictured him, it was in his own leather chair, the one that sat in front of his hearth. It was a handsome chair, worn in places, but that only added to its charm. In warm brown leather with a high back, it seemed to suit him, and it was comfortably large enough to hold them both when she sat across his lap. It would be very much at home in her library.

She wondered if he’d want to bring anything else. There was plenty of room for his bookcase, and she could make more room by offering some of her furnishings to Dot. The chairs currently in the library would look very nice in Dot’s front room and be a huge improvement over Hugh's mother's cast-off sofa.

She realized, with a start, that he'd lowered his paper and was watching her with a bemused expression.

"Hello," he said. "Where have you been?"

"I just got home. Came in through the kitchen.” She gestured unnecessarily in that general direction.

"No, I meant just now. You seemed very far away."

"Did I?"

"Shall I fix you a drink?" He rose and headed for the cart without waiting for her answer. She watched him move easily across the room and help himself to the liquor, pouring her a glass and topping off his own.

She'd been wrong, she realized. He wasn't at all uncomfortable here and clearly did not consider himself a visitor. He looked completely at home. He handed her a glass, giving her a smile that she’d come to think of as for her alone.

“Move in with me,” she blurted.

Jack choked on the sip of his drink he’d just taken. If this were a play, a farce particularly, he’d have spit it in her face.

“I beg your pardon?” he coughed. She pounded on his back.

“Sorry about that. That was rather abrupt of me, wasn’t it?” she laughed. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” he choked, “but, I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”

“Move in with me,” she repeated, slowly and clearly. “I want you to live here.”

He gaped at her.

“Phryne, we just—earlier, you were—do you mean that?”

“Absolutely. You’re here most of the time, and I miss you when you’re not. I’ve plenty of room.” She was speaking alarmingly fast, even for her.

“Is this some kind of test?”

“No! I realized what was bothering me, Jack. I don’t want you here overnight or once in awhile. I want you here all the time. Don’t you want to be with me?”

“Yes, I do, but...”

“But what? We love each other, don’t we? We want to be together. It’d be so much easier living in the same place and my house is bigger. What do you say?”

Jack’s head tilted to one side, his eyes taking on the intense look they got when he was thinking deeply. Which he was—deeply and quickly. There were a million reasons not to do this. They weren’t married, nor were they ever likely to be. People would talk, but, then again, they already did and it was less now than in early days.

It would end all the back and forth, all the uncertainty, though something could go wrong and they still might split. That would be painful, but would it really be any less so if they were living apart when it happened?

There were a million reasons not to do it, but none of them trumped the reasons to do it. He loved her. He wanted to spend every minute he had with her. She wanted him here. He wouldn’t make her ask again.

“All right,” he said, shrugging slightly and taking a cautious sip of his drink. He was waiting to feel a sense of panic, but it didn’t arrive. This decision had come more quickly than it usually took to decide on a new tie.

“All right, what?”

“All right. Yes. I’ll move in with you.”

“Really?” she said, optimistically excited. This was too easy. “You do realize that I’m deadly serious? This isn’t a joke.”

“I certainly hope not. I’d be a cruel trick if it were.”

All through their meal they made plans. She’d have a second phone line put in so that he’d have his own number to give to the station and anyone else that might need to reach him. The story, for public consumption, would be that he was her tenant. It was terribly transparent, but entirely plausible. Her home was extremely large and, though there’d been meager signs of a recovery in Melbourne lately, it wasn’t unbelievable that she might seek additional income by renting out space.

“When can you come?” she asked, feeling as giddy as a teenager.

“My lease is up in two months.”

“Oh. But, you needn’t wait that long.”

“No. There’s no reason to wait.”

“And you can bring whatever you like. I want this to be as much your home as mine.”

She wasn’t sure why this hadn’t occurred to her sooner. It felt so right. This was where he belonged.

“As long as you’re here, that’s all I’ll need,” he said, reaching over to take her hand.

“Well, if that doesn’t sound perfectly sickening, Jack.” She screwed up her face at the sentiment, but wound her fingers through his nonetheless. “I’ve already decided your chair will go in the library. I think you best bring along the other chair as well. I’ve grown attached to it. And we can set up one of the guest bedrooms for you, but I don’t expect you’ll spend too much time in it.”

“You’ve given this some thought.” He looked incredibly pleased.

“It seems I have,” she said, only then realizing just how often she’d envisioned it. She beamed at him and was rewarded by seeing a softness come over his features that made her insides melt.

“You do want this then,” he said, tightening his hold on her hand.

“More than anything.”

* * *

 

Phryne settled against Jack on the love seat, curling her legs under her and resting her head against his chest. There were times she wanted nothing more than to crawl inside him like this and float away. It was the most contradictory sensation. When he held her close and she could hear his steady heart, she had the feeling of being utterly grounded, but light as air. Like a balloon on a string, full and free, but tethered and secure.

Jack hated to break the silence. She was serene, but still vibrating with a never ceasing energy, and he could feel the warmth she radiated. He loved that they were so comfortable together in silence.

He was still a bit stunned from the conversation at dinner. The plans had come together so easily. He had arrived tonight, thinking he’d be able to please her by bringing a suitcase with him. Small steps indeed. Leave it to her to make his gesture seem microscopic.

“What did you do after I left you today?” he asked, breaking the silence.

She told him about running into the sister of the suicide victim.

“Oh? Did she settle your concerns, or renew them?”

“She seemed reluctant to accept the ruling of suicide. Her sister’s life hadn’t been easy in recent years. Her husband had been very ill. Mustard gas. In the end he had been in terrible pain and his death something of a blessing. Fannie, the sister, had thought Virginia was finally coming into her own again. She was doing well at work and seemed happier lately than she’d been in a long time. It’s all very sad, but at least my mind was put at ease on one count. Fannie and her husband will take in Virginia’s boys to raise.”

“I meant to bring you the file but it slipped my mind. You’re welcome to stop by tomorrow for it.”

“I don’t really know what I’d look for in it.”

“What is it that bothers you about the case? I don’t understand. You didn’t even know this woman.”

“Maybe you’ve been right all along and I’m just bored. Tell me about your day. What brought you to the morgue? Is it an interesting investigation?”

“I don’t know that it’s an investigation at all,” he said. “I wasn’t on the scene and only met the brother at the morgue for the identification. How do you know the family?”

“I don’t know the family, only Topper, and not well. We have mutual acquaintances and have socialized on several occasions. All I really know is that he’s considered to be quite charming and never seems to want for money. More than one woman would be glad of his attention but he’s proved—elusive,” she said, with a smirk. “I’ve never given him much thought myself, to be honest.”

“Really? An elusive charmer desired by others? He’s rather good looking too. Seems he’d be just your type,” Jack teased.

“As a matter of fact, that description rather aptly describes the one man that is exactly my type.” She leaned in, bringing her lips close to his.

“Is that so?” His eyes drifted to her lovely mouth.

“It’s late, Jack, and you have to be up early. Let’s go to bed.” She stood and took his hand to lead him upstairs.

When Jack came from the bath, she was sitting up against a flotilla of pillows, dressed in her peach silk pajamas and reading a book.

He crawled in beside her, laying his head down on the pillow watching her. She bent to give him a sweet, and surprisingly chaste, kiss before putting her book aside, shutting off the lamp and snuggling in at his side to spoon. His hand went around her waist, drawing her close, then drifted under her pajama top and slowly up to cup her breast.

“I thought you needed sleep,” she sighed, as he nuzzled against her neck.

“I can sleep when I’m dead.”

“Don’t feel you need to always indulge me, Jack.”

“I’m not indulging you, Phryne,” he chuckled. “I happen to find you incredibly alluring in this silk get up of yours.”

“Really? Of all the seductive garments I’ve donned to entice you, you find my pajamas irresistible?”

“I find everything about you irresistible, but, if you’d rather not tonight, I’m perfectly happy just to sleep beside you.”

“I’m not the one that was complaining about being tired,” she said, turning to face him, and running her hand down his side to his hip. “Why don’t you lie back and relax. I promise, once I’m done with you, you’ll sleep like a baby.”

“No.” He stilled her hand. She was always an eager and enthusiastic participant in bed, and he loved how equal they were in their desires, but tonight, he wanted it to be different. “Let me take the lead? I want to show you what I should have shown you long ago.” He dipped to nibble at her neck and smiled when he felt her go a little limp. “Let me love you, Phryne,” he whispered in her ear. She turned her eyes to his and he kissed her. A long, slow, deep kiss that rocketed to her core.

She wasn’t used to giving up control, but he’d asked so nicely and his kiss was doing magnificent things to her body. She let him remove the pajamas he’d just admired and then lay back and allowed him to do what he would.

He was incredibly tender and, at times, frustratingly slow. He seemed to be worshiping each inch of her with his hands and his mouth. If she became too animated or tried to rush him, he pulled back, whispering calming endearments, caressing her gently until she settled again.

The room was dark and she closed her eyes to let her other senses take over. She felt his weight heavy on her, grounding her to the world. His hands slid up her sides to find hers and hold them to the mattress on either side of her head. She linked her fingers through his and held on tight. She trusted him completely and let herself be laid bare beneath him, body and soul. Bringing her knees up around him, she pressed her feet flat onto the bed, tilting her pelvis to accept him.

They’d been together like this more times than she could count, and yet that moment just before he entered her still left her breathless. He pushed in slowly, continuing his attentions to her lips and body. The addition of his languid, measured strokes sent sparks of electricity coursing through her.

“Do you love me?” she asked.

“You know I do.”

“Tell me, Jack. I want hear you say it.”

“You’re the love of my life, Phryne Fisher.”

He dipped his head and kissed her, his tongue barely teasing itself into her mouth. She lunged upward, opening her mouth to draw him in, and wrapping her legs around him to bring him closer. She pulsed against him. She wanted to draw him to the edge of the abyss that she was fast approaching. She knew he was lost when his efforts became more erratic. She dropped her head back and closed her eyes.

“Look at me. Please.” She did as asked and found him watching her intently. “I love you,” he said.

She felt his body tense.

“I love you, Jack Robinson. More than I thought possible.”

He let loose one of her hands and gripped the headboard to find better purchase. She ran her free hand down his back, pulling him hard to her.

“Phryne—” His voice was rough and anguished. Her name like a desperate plea.

A wave crashed softly over her. Her head fell back and her mouth opened but she couldn’t make a sound. As his intensity increased, her mind was hijacked by animalistic need. Her body arced up toward his, contracting to draw him deeper, hold him closer. She felt him come along with her as wave after wave of ecstasy speared through her. She was pure, exhilarating sensation.

At last, his head came to rest in the crook of her neck, his breathing labored. She wrapped her arms around him. He rolled to his back pulling her along with him until she was sprawled partway across his chest, one leg between his thighs. They lay tangled together in awed silence and sated bliss.

“Are you all right?” he asked, quietly. But for her slightly ragged breathing, she’d been unusually silent.

“I’m fantastic.” She felt feather-light, and boneless, and marvelously wasted. He ran his hand over her back causing her to shiver and press closer.

“That you are, Miss Fisher,” he sighed, sounding incredibly happy. Within a minute he was asleep.

She made herself move, just enough to pull the covers up over them both, and turned to look at him. The moonlight through the window played on his features, illuminating his strong jaw, and the slightly upturned nose. He looked thoroughly relaxed and very peaceful. She rested her hand on his chest and felt it rise and fell with each deeply drawn breath.

People thought him to be a solemn and reserved man. Even he called himself serious, and he was. Serious and sincere, but not dreary or dour. Jack was full of life. You had to look closely to see it, because he always appeared so calm and staid. He looked still, but he never was. He was ever observant, ever questioning and learning. Jack loved life and wasn’t one to waste it. The way he devoured good food had been her first indication. Then his reading habits, the endless fount of knowledge he held in his head. He had a need to be constantly challenged. His mind was never idle, though his body sometimes belied that fact.

She was reminded of a proverb about stillness. Something about a quiet manner concealing a more passionate nature. That was Jack. Her Jack.

Her heart swelled in her chest and she felt joyful tears pricking behind her eyes. They would live together, work together and be so very happy. She thought she might just be the luckiest woman alive.

Jack let out a loud snort, and then began snoring. Loud enough to shake the house. She leaned away, frowning.

“Jack,” she said. No response. The sound grew to deafening heights.

“Jack!”

Still nothing. This would not do.

Finally, she poked him roughly in the ribs. He grunted and rolled to his side, reaching out for her. She turned, pressed her back to him and let him fold himself around her, his arm heavy on her waist. His contented sigh ruffled her hair and he mumbled her name in his sleep.

“I love you too. My darling, Jack.”


	4. Chapter 4

He was long gone when she awoke, the sheets beside her cold. She stretched like a contented cat, running her hand over his side of the bed and pulling his pillow to her face to inhale his scent. She hugged the pillow close, flinging it away in a panic when she heard the bedroom door opening. Sitting up quickly, she was relieved to see that Dot was backing into the room with the breakfast tray and wouldn’t have witnessed her besotted morning routine.

“Good morning, Miss. Did you sleep well?”

“I did, Dot. Thank you.”

Dot set the breakfast tray on the end of the bed and handed her mistress a dressing gown, turning her head as Phryne donned it. Miss Fisher never seemed embarrassed to be found naked in her bed but Dot still hadn’t gotten used to the sight. She tried not to think of the fact that Inspector Robinson had lay in that bed only hours before, most likely equally unclothed.

It brought back the horrifying memory of that one morning, soon after Miss Fisher had returned from England, when Dot had entered the room to find the inspector and Miss Phryne—she blushed at the thought—shaking her head in a vain attempt to remove the image from her brain. Since that day, she’d made a point to check the stand in the hall for his hat and coat before coming upstairs, and even if the stand was empty, she entered the bedroom rather more loudly than strictly necessary.

“Oh, Dot! I have some exciting news!” Phryne said as she settled back against the headboard and let Dot place the tray across her lap. “Sit with me,” she patted the mattress and Dot obligingly perched daintily by her side and took the piece of toast Miss Phryne held out in offer.

“What news, Miss?”

“Inspector Robinson—Jack— is going to be joining us here on a permanent basis.”

Dot looked confused. The Inspector was already here all the time. She wasn’t sure how, exactly, this was news. She then grasped onto one word.

“Permanently?” She said, becoming excited. “Do you mean you and Inspector Robinson are getting married? Oh, Miss! That’s wonderful!”

“Well, no,” Phryne stammered, “not married, Dot. Jack is moving in.”

“I don’t understand,” Dot said. Phryne’s excitement flagged. She should have shared the news first with Mac, or even Mr. Butler. At least then she’d have gotten a polite ‘very well, Miss’ in response.

“We’re not getting married but he will be giving up his home and moving in here to live. With me,” she said, cheerfully.

“Oh. But—never mind, miss.”

“What is it Dot?”

“Well, won’t it look bad for the Inspector with Russell Street? For him and you to be—pardon my saying, I know you think differently and all, but—living in sin?”

“We plan to tell everyone that he is my tenant. That I’m letting a room to him,” Phryne explained. “Like I did for you and Hugh when you first married.”

“Oh, I see,” Dot said, clearly not seeing. “But, wouldn’t it be simpler to just marry? Then you won’t have to lie.”

“It’s a little more complicated than you might think. What with my title and estate,” Phryne sighed, she was beginning to be very sorry to have started this conversation.

“Does that make things more difficult? Would you have to give up your title?” Dot knew nothing of how titles worked, maybe it was all very involved.

“No, but once I married, my assets would be shared,” she said vaguely, although she knew legal arrangements could be made regarding that.

“Oh! And you don’t want Inspector Robinson to have your money.”

“No! It’s not that. The truth is, Dot, we’ve never even talked of marriage.”

“Really? Not once? After all this time, I’d have thought—but I suppose with the Inspector having been married before, he might not be in a hurry to do it again,” Dot said, thoughtfully.

“Possibly,” Phryne mused. She’d never considered that.

“As long as you’re happy, Miss Phryne,” Dot said, brightly

“We are happy.” Though Phryne suddenly felt a bit on wobbly ground. “We’re very happy. We just want to be together, we’re not religious and we don’t need all the legal trappings.” She feared she was now protesting too much, and simply stopped talking.

“Then I’m happy too. For you. For you both,” Dot said firmly. She may not always understand, or agree, with Miss Phryne’s decisions, but she’d stand by her friend and defend her against any that dared speak ill of her.

“Thank you, Dot,” Phryne smiled affectionately at her young companion. She shouldn’t have expected Dot to understand. “Will you set out my black trousers and the a dark silk blouse, please? I should get a move on. I have a little investigating I want to do today.”

As Phryne began her day, Jack was perusing the file on Virginia Dresden. Maybe there was something they’d missed. Phryne often had a sixth sense about things. It wouldn’t hurt to give it a second look.

Almost immediately, a couple of things stood out to him. For one thing, the suicide note hadn’t been found with the body. It hadn’t been discovered until the next day. The victim’s sister had turned it in, claiming she had taken it from the room before the police had arrived. In her statement she’d said that she’d hid it in case her sister survived, for fear she’d get into trouble for trying to take her own life. If she lived, they could claim the whole thing was an accident and no one would be able to prove otherwise. Once all hope was lost, she’d brought the note forward so that her nephews could benefit from their mother’s wish to pass on the hat band invention and take care of them financially.

Jack wasn’t surprised by the explanation. Suicide was considered a crime —though Jack thought prosecuting people that survived an attempt on their own life absurd—what concerned him was the fact that the note had spent so much time outside the chain of custody.

There was one other thing that bothered Jack. The name of Virginia Dresden’s place of employ. He’d heard it before. Recently. It took a minute before it came to him. It probably meant nothing. Still. He reached for the phone.

“Mac. It’s Jack, I’m glad I caught you. I know you took a look at that suicide. Was there anything that concerned you?”

There was a long pause on the line, followed by a heavy sigh, or maybe it was a quiet chuckle.

“She plays you like a fiddle. You know that, don’t you?”

“I am aware. But, I’m not alone in that.”

Mac could almost hear his teasing smile.

“Touché,” she replied. “I only gave the body a cursory once over. I can’t say I had any cause for concern. Want me to give it a closer look?”

“Would you?”

“Sure. Any particularly reason?”

“It’s probably nothing more than an odd coincidence. I just want to cover all bases. Are you conducting the post mortem on Dennis Martin?”

“I was just about to begin.”

“Good. I’m glad it’s you. Be sure to let me know as soon as you determine cause of death.”

“That is my job, Jack.”

“And you do it well, Doctor.”

“Thank you, Inspector. Drinks soon?”

“Absolutely.”

It was a little something that had begun while Phryne was away in England. They’d both felt a void and enjoyed each other’s company. They found they had quite a lot in common, and didn’t always talk about Phryne, but she came up often enough, and Jack was glad to have someone with whom he could openly speak of her. Nowadays, she usually joined them for cocktails, and on occasion Mac would bring along a friend as well.

So very much had changed in Jack’s life since meeting Phryne, all of it for the better, and it was about to improve even further.

He was finding it difficult to concentrate on his work today, his mind was constantly drifting back to the previous night. He found himself smiling for no apparent reason, earning some extremely confused looks from his fellow officers. Once he even caught himself humming. He bent his head over the file now currently open on his desk, willing his mind back to work.

He heard her coming well before she swept into the office, closing the door behind her. She pulled the canvas hat from her head and dropped it on the desk.

“Jack!” she breathed, moving toward him, her eyes alight. He was up and around the desk in an instant, sweeping her into his arms and crushing his mouth against hers. Her hands slipped under his suit coat to wrap around his waist.

He’d been unable to keep his mind off of her all morning and now his hands were having similar difficulties. It was almost like when they’d first begun.

“I think you’d best sit down over there,” he said, indicating the seat across the desk from his. Her perfume filled his head and his self control was fast evaporating. “If we don’t get some space between us, I risk behaving entirely inappropriately.” His mouth turned up in a devilish smirk.

“Again, Jack?”

She recalled a time when she’d surprised him in his office after a night out dancing. It had been around three in the morning and the station was quiet, but for the desk sergeant.

She’d teased Jack mercilessly that night, kicking off her shoes and seating herself on his desk, directly in front of him. She’d dropped a strap off her shoulder and hiked her dress up over her knees, placing one stockinged foot on his chair and tucking it under his bottom. The other foot found its way into his lap. She’d watched his eyes close and felt his hands grip her thighs, the muscles in his neck tensing as he fought for control. She remembered vividly the moment he’d lost it, or maybe he’d taken it.

He’d stood and pushed her dress up to her waist, and she’d felt the rough touch of his hands on her skin as he removed her panties, gruffly admonishing her when she squealed in delight. She’d quieted and fumbled for his fly, her hands shaking with anticipation, her body sparking from what he was doing with his fingers at that moment.

He’d let her draw him out and then laid her down and rose over her, his hands holding fast to her hips, his eyes burning into hers. Moments later, the sound of her beaded dress scraping rhythmically over the wooden desktop filled the room, and she’d had to bite down on her fist to keep from crying out.

It had been illicit and dangerous and she was warm now just thinking of it.

He licked his lips, raking his hot eyes over her, his hand moving down to cup her backside and press her to him. Clearly he remembered that night too. It was midday and the station was fully staffed, but she raised an eyebrow and cocked her head at the closed door. He smirked, shaking his head.

“Too risky, Miss Fisher.” He untangled himself from her, smoothing his hair and straightening his tie as he sat down behind the desk. She shrugged and settled in the chair opposite, crossing her legs demurely.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, surprisingly calmly. He took in her rather casual attire and frowned. “Tell me you’re not still poking around the suicide case.”

“I just wanted to satisfy my curiosity once and for all,” she said, leaning back and propping her feet up on his desk.

“Have you?”

“I stopped by her place of employment today, at the noon hour. I managed to start a conversation with one of the workers on her lunch break.”

”“Martin Hat Mills,” Jack interjected.

“Yes. That’s where she worked,” Phryne said, confused by the interruption.

“Dennis Martin. The body at the morgue. Found dead in his office at the Martin Hat Mills, the same place Virginia Dresden worked. I made the connection this morning.”

“So, Virginia Dresden worked for Topper’s dead brother? What do you think that means?” she said, dropping her feet to the ground and leaning forward eagerly.

“Probably nothing. It’s just an interesting coincidence. I doubt the two deaths are in any way related. What did you learn at the mill?”

She sat back again. “I couldn’t possibly have found a better person to approach. The woman was a terrible gossip and more than happy to talk. If her boss hadn’t called her back to work, I’d still be there. She said that Virginia Dresden had been involved romantically with someone at the mill. She wouldn’t name the man for fear of losing her job but she had the impression the affair may have gone sour recently.”

“And you think a disappointing love affair may have caused her to take her life?”

“Men always think it’s about them,” she said, shaking her head. “We can live without you, you know.”

“Well, what’s the significance of this supposed affair then!” he said defensively. “Why mention it if you don’t think it means anything?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Nothing I’ve learned means anything. There’s nothing here. I don’t know why it’s got such a hold on me anyway. I’m going to have to go out and drum up some business before I go stark raving mad.”

“As long as you don’t kill anyone to relieve your boredom,” he said, “I’m sure something will come along soon. Something always does.”

There was a rap on the door. “Sir, there’s a call for you from Dr. MacMillan. Will you take it?”

“Yes, thank you, put her though.”

* * *

 

Jack and Phryne found Mac in the morgue finishing her examination of Dennis Martin.

“I was visiting when you called,” Phryne shrugged, in response to Mac’s questioning look.

“And you wanted to continue the visit here? At the morgue? How charming.”

“What have you found, Doctor,” Jack said, ignoring them both.

“Nothing too mysterious. I suspected some kind of allergic reaction as cause of death right away. The hives and swelling were a good indiction. Then I found this.” She pointed to a small, red puncture mark, with redness and swelling around it.

“This man died from being stung by a bee?” Phryne asked.

“Wasp, more likely. I found no stinger.”

“What does that matter?”

“Bees are not very aggressive,” Jack said. “It takes a lot for them to sting and when they do, they lose their stinger and die. Wasps will sting with far less provocation, though they do usually have to feel threatened to attack. They don’t normally lose their stinger, since it’s their primary mode of defense,” Jack said.

“Very good, Inspector, I’m impressed,” Mac acknowledged.

“Jack’s quite the gardener,” Phryne said proudly. “But, I don’t understand. People get stung all the time. They don’t die.”

“It’s called anaphylaxis,” Mac explained. “It happens when a person develops a hypersensitivity to something, in this case wasp venom. When exposed to the substance, the body can have a fatal toxic shock reaction. Sometimes it will bring on a cardiac episode, or swelling will close the airway, or, as in this case, a bit of both.”

“So, people can be walking around, get stung by a wasp and drop dead?”

“Yes. Though research has found that the reaction isn’t usually so severe upon first contact. You might have a mild reaction the first time you’re stung and then, if the venom is introduced to your system again within the next ten to thirty days, the second reaction could be fatal.”

“How quickly would death occur?” Jack asked.

“It could be as fast as a few minutes. Depends on the severity of the reaction. Mr. Martin’s reaction was very severe.”

“So, no foul play then?”

“Not unless you want to arrest a wasp for murder,” Mac said.


	5. Chapter 5

“What possible reason could I give for having you along?” Jack complained. He was headed to the offices of the Martin Hat Mill to break the news about cause of death to the deceased man’s brother.

“Since when do you need a reason? Come on, Jack. Two people who work for the same company die within weeks of each other. Don’t you find that suspicious?”

“Of course! Why didn’t I see it, Miss Fisher? The wasp must have turned on the gas in Virginia Dresden’s home and then made its way over to the hat mill to finish off Dennis Martin. Now, we just need a motive.”

“Very funny.”

“This need of yours to find a new case is getting out of hand, Phryne.”

“At least let me come along for Topper’s sake. I’m sure he’ll be happy for a friend when he hears the news.”

“I thought you hardly knew the man. Are you truly this bored?”

“Jack, my alternative this afternoon is helping Dot choose a paint color for the nursery.”

“Ah.”

“And, maybe I just prefer spending time with you. I do love to watch you work.” She linked her arm through his and gazed up at him adoringly.

“No need to go overboard,” he said, rolling his eyes at her transparent attempt at flattery. He opened the passenger side door and she settled in with a triumphant grin.

* * *

 

“A bee sting you say? How extraordinary!” Topper Martin sat down heavily in his brother’s chair.

“You didn’t know he had an allergy?” Jack asked.

“No idea. And it can really kill a man? Something as small as that?”

“Jack—over here. I may have found our suspect.”

Jack followed Phryne’s gaze toward the window that overlooked the factory floor. Knocking against the glass, as though trying to get out, was a yellow and black wasp about three quarters of an inch long. After a moment it settled on the glass and folded its smoky black wings over its back.

“May I?” Jack asked, picking up an empty water glass from Martin’s desk.

“By all means.” Martin rose from his chair and quickly removed himself from the room. Mumbling something about not taking any chances.

Jack crossed the room and upended the glass on top of the wasp. Phryne found a stiff bit of paper and he slipped it between the glass and the window, trapping the insect.

“Paper wasp,” he said on closer examination. “Fairly common. Shall I clap it in irons?”

“But how did it get all the way in here?” Phryne asked, ignoring his gibe. “There’s no connection to the out of doors. It’d have had to come up the stairwell, down the hallway and through the outer room. And this is an industrial neighborhood—not a lot of gardens around here.”

“Paper wasps will build nests in the eaves of buildings. This one may have found a way in through a vent. We should take a look around while were here. It’s not a good idea to allow a nest to remain near to where so many people work. I don’t know how common a wasp venom allergy is, but better not take any chances. The nests are simple enough to knock down and the colony will abandon it once it’s been disturbed.”

They made a tour around the outside of the building, Jack checking the eaves carefully as Phryne strolled along at his side. This wasn’t the type of investigation she’d been hoping for, but it beat watching paint dry. Just barely and only because of present company.

“I know you. Hang around here anymore and they’ll put you to work.”

Phryne turned toward the voice and saw a woman in a factory apron, leaning against the wall in the alley having a smoke.

“Oh! Hello. It’s Margery, isn’t right?” Phryne extended her gloved hand to the gossipy woman she’d met the previous day. “Phryne Fisher and this is Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.”

“A copper?” She blew smoke directly into Jack’s face as she looked him up and down. “I knew Mr. Dennis’ death weren’t no accident. It’s that waste of a brother you’re after, ain’t it?”

“Why would you say that?” Phryne inquired.

“Well they had that big row now didn’t they? Mind you they was always arguing, but this was a doozy.”

“What was the argument about?”

“Scuttlebutt is someone wants to buy us.”

“Who?”

“That lady’s hat place—Chapoe, it’s called. Mr. Dennis wasn’t gonna sell, and the other one was right put out. He never had much time to spend here as it was, and when he was around all he did was flirt with the gals on the floor. One in particular. If you get my meaning. You was asking about her before? You know who I mean?”

“I do, Margery,” Phryne said. The woman wasn’t exactly being cryptic. “The Martin brothers fought, you say?”

“All the time. Helen, the office girl, she was always telling me how Mr. Dennis was upset that his brother didn’t take the work seriously, and was always asking for more money. But the biggest fight was over selling the company. Mr. Dennis didn’t want to.”

“But his brother did?”

“Excuse me, who are you and what are you doing bothering one of my workers?” A bespectacled man of about thirty approached. He was neatly dressed in worn but well cared for trousers and a clean work shirt that was fraying slightly at the collar. The detectives introduced themselves.

“And you are?” Jack asked.

“Fred Taylor. Factory Foreman,” he turned to his employee. “Get back to work now Margie.”

The woman stubbed out her cigarette on the brick wall of the building and grudgingly returned inside.

“May I ask what you are doing here?” Taylor said.

They explained the purpose for their visit. The foreman expressed shock at the manner of his boss’s death and seemed relieved by the news that they’d found no nests around the building.

“Margery mentioned someone was looking to buy your company and the brothers were at odds on the subject,” Phryne said, conversationally.

“It’s not my company, Miss Fisher, and Margie talks too much. She shouldn’t be shooting off her mouth.”

“Did you know Virginia Dresden, Mr. Taylor?”

“Of course I did. Margie wasn’t flapping her gums about Gin, was she?” He glared angrily in the direction the woman had headed.

“No! Not a word. I only ask because I happened to meet Mrs. Dresden’s sister the other day and it was such a tragic story. I was just wondering if the company was doing anything to help her sons.”

“You met my Fannie? When?”

“Your Fannie?”

“Gin Dresden was my sister-in-law. Fannie’s my wife.” He eyed Phryne suspiciously. “I remember seeing you here the other day. I’m not sure I see what these questions have to do with trying to find a bee’s nest, and as far as Gin’s boys—we take care of our own. I need to get back to on the floor. The girls get lazy if I don’t keep an eye. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t come around bothering them any further. If you’ll excuse me.” He stalked back inside without another word.

“Well, he’s an unpleasant sort, isn’t he?” Phryne complained.

“Why, because he didn’t immediately succumb to your charms?” Jack said affectionately.

“You know, he reminded me a bit of you—that day in Lydia Andrew’s bathroom—you were so stiff and serious. Didn’t give me an inch.”

“As I recall, I let you wander all over my crime scene expounding your analysis of said scene. Rather impressively, I might add.”

“I impressed you, Inspector? I’d never have known.”

“You most definitely impressed me, Miss Fisher. That day and each day since.”

She turned toward him smiling happily and straightened his already perfect tie before running her hands over his lapels.

“I wonder if I should look into this failed attempt to buy Martin Hats,” she mused.

“Phryne, please. Let it go.”

“What’s the harm, Jack? I’ve nothing else to do. The brothers were apparently at odds. Margery implied Virginia Dresden was having an affair with Topper. And what of Fred Taylor? Factory foreman and married to Virginia Dresden’s sister. It’s all just a little too incestuous. Something odd is going on here. I can feel it.”

“Would it make any difference if I were to point out that none of those things is a crime?” he sighed.

“Absolutely not, darling.”

Topper Martin had been heading out when he spotted Miss Fisher and that policeman of her’s talking to his factory foreman. He thought they’d left a half hour earlier and here they were, wandering around, asking questions of his employees. This didn’t bode well.

He was about to embark on a sensitive negotiation that could change his life. If successful he would be set for life and never have to set foot in this dreadful building again.

Having police poking around wouldn’t look good. They’d seemed satisfied with cause of death, what could they still be looking for? And how had they found their way to Taylor so quickly? Taylor had been Dennis’ right hand man. Dennis was always praising him, and crowing about his time saving innovations.

He’d even found evidence of payments to Taylor above and beyond his salary lately. Bonuses he’d assumed, but maybe there was more too it.

Dennis had vehemently refused to even discuss selling the company and he’d had a staunch ally in Taylor. Even when Topper had offered the man a hefty sum to switch sides, he’d refused. He’d chalked it up to loyalty, but those payments made him curious.

He needed to get on top of this and find out what, if anything, Taylor was up to and what he might be telling the police.

From what he’d witnessed outside the hospital, Phryne Fisher and this inspector were very close. Perhaps he should hire Miss Fisher himself. That way he could find out what the police knew and get in front of any damaging information. Having found himself at the helm of a large company at a precarious time, he didn’t think it wouldn’t seem odd to want to make sure there was no one working against him. He had his assistant find her number and left a message with her man.

Phryne stopped home to change for her visit to Chapoe’s. She dressed in a dove grey silk patterned blouse and cream wool gabardine skirt that fell to mid-calf, with sheer cream stockings and kidskin leather ankles boots. To top it off, she donned her favorite Chapoe brand hat. It was a delicate shade of greyish-blue with matching organza petals along the brim. Jack had once told her it complemented the color of her eyes.

She didn’t have to wait long to see the man in charge. The owner, a one Harold Overton, was a gregarious man, who couldn’t be more than forty years of age. He had heard of Phryne and was thrilled to welcome her to his offices, and even more thrilled to see her wearing one of their creations.

“If only there might be a photo of the Honorable Miss Fisher, wearing one of our hats in the local newspaper! It would do us no end of good, publicity wise.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said modestly.

“Nonsense, Miss Fisher. Your sense of style and cutting edge fashion are legendary and I am utterly at your service. Tell me, what can I do for you? A custom hat perhaps?”

“Another time. I’m actually looking into something for a client of mine,” she fibbed. “I’m hoping you can answer a few questions for me. Rumors have spread recently that Chapoe Hats might soon be expanding.”

“May I ask where you got your information?”

“My client would prefer to remain anonymous.”

“That puts me in an awkward position then. A day or two ago I would have felt free to discuss the subject, since it seemed our plans would not succeed, but today I have reason to hope for a better outcome.”

“Is that so? Let me lay my cards on the table, Mr. Overton. I assure you, I will be most discreet in keeping any proprietary information confidential, but, I am working with the police on a rather delicate matter surrounding Martin Hat Mills, and anything you were willing to share with me might help solve a terrible crime.”

What this terrible crime might be, she couldn’t possibly imagine at this point, but she was sure if she kept digging something would turn up.

“A crime you say? This wouldn’t have anything to do with the death of Dennis Martin, would it? I was so distressed to hear of it. He was a nice man and an astute businessman. I gather you already know it was his business we were interested in purchasing.”

“Do you have any reason to be suspicious of Martin’s death?”

“No. None at all, but he seemed such a healthy man when I met with him not more than a week ago to put our offer to him. News of his death came as quite a shock.”

“Isn’t Martin Hat’s quite a bit larger than your company?” Phryne asked.

“You’re thinking it would be more likely that they would be able to gobble us up, rather than the other way round,” Overton put in amiably. “By ourselves, Chapoe wouldn’t have the means to purchase an entity such as Martin Hats, but I have other investors interested in getting into this market and they are hoping to expand beyond our ladies line.”

“I see. But your offer was rejected.”

“Yes. Rejected so firmly I’d given up hope. Dennis Martin clearly had no interest in letting go of his business, but now, and under circumstances I would never have wished for, it seems I might have another chance. The younger Martin brother contacted me yesterday.”

“Has he accepted your offer?”

“Not as such,” the man smiled. “He wants to reopen the negotiations. He claims to have a new invention that will revolutionize the industry and has made a counter offer. It’s a preposterous proposal. His invention would have to be able to make hats on its own to be worth the amount he’s asking. Either he doesn’t have his brother’s head for business, or he’s hoping that if he starts high, we’ll meet him somewhere in the middle.”

“What is this revolutionary invention?” Phryne’s pulse quickened and she tried to keep her expression neutral despite her sudden excitement.

“He says it’s a new type of hat band.”

“A hat band? How interesting. Would a hat band really revolutionize the industry?”

“I don’t know about revolutionizing it, but if it’s a good enough innovation, the patent on it could make a person fairly wealthy. Everyone buys hats, Miss Fisher, and every hat needs a band. It’s a good idea, too. An adjustable hat band that will help fit a hat tightly to keep it from being knocked away by a breeze, without altering the lines of the hat.”

“Has Topper offered to sell the invention along with his company?”

“That was my understanding. I’ve asked to see a prototype, or at least the specifications of the invention before we counter his offer.”

“So you were unaware of this invention when you first attempted to purchase Martin Hats?”

“That’s correct. Dennis Martin never mentioned it. Perhaps it was why he was so intent on holding on to his company.”

“You say you spoke to Topper, err— Bernard Martin, yesterday? Before that, when was the last time you had any interaction with either of the Martin brothers?”

“Yesterday was my first and only interaction with Bernard Martin. I’d have to check my calendar regarding my meeting with Martin the elder,” he said. He called out to his assistant asking her for the date of his luncheon with Dennis Martin. She confirmed that the lunch had taken place one week before Dennis Martin’s death.

“And you hadn’t seen or spoken to him since?”

“He refused my offer on the spot. I think he only met with me to be polite. I did call once more, a day or two later. I was trying to pursue further negotiations, my partners were willing to go higher, but Mr. Martin made it clear that no number would be high enough. He simply didn’t wish to sell. That was the last time we spoke. There wasn’t much point after that.”

“Where was your initial meeting?”

“At my club.”

She took the address so that she could follow up to confirm if needed.

“And you never met with Dennis Martin other than this luncheon? You’ve never been to the mill? I’d have thought, given your interest in purchasing the business, a review of the facilities would have been in order.” Phryne said. At this Mr. Overton looked slightly abashed.

“Of course you’re right. I did ask, but, given Martin’s disinterest in a sale, he refused me. I found a way around that by slightly less than ethical means. I followed his foreman to a pub one evening and bribed him for some inside information. You probably think it terribly unprincipled of me, but I think you’ll find, in the fashion industry in particular, a little espionage is not unusual,” he shrugged.

“Oh, I’m quite sure it is standard practice.” She knew there were pattern companies with spies at shows by all the best fashion houses. Almost immediately after a new collection was previewed, knock-off patterns began to flood the market. It was a large problem for designers. “When did this clandestine meeting take place?”

“Shortly before my appointment with Dennis Martin. We needn’t bother asking my assistant, it won’t be in the calendar, but it was sometime in the week previous. I relayed what I’d learned to my partners. They were very interested in the workings of the factory—how much product they produced in a week, the amount of workers on their payroll, that sort of thing. We used the information in forming our offer.”

“This man you met with, you say he was the factory foreman? Would that be Fred Taylor?”

“Yes. That’s the man, he’s in charge of overseeing production.”

Phryne got the name of the pub in which Overton had found Taylor, thanked him for his time and hurried home.


	6. Chapter 6

Phryne paced the parlor impatiently waiting for Jack to arrive. He was barely through the door when she pounced.

“It’s the hat band, Jack! That’s the key to this whole thing!”

“Good evening, Phryne,” he said calmly. He bent to kiss her cheek and proceeded to hang up his coat and hat before turning into the parlor with her hot on his heels.

“Topper Mayhew told Harold Overton that he has a brilliant new invention that will revolutionize the industry and make Martin Hats worth twice what Chapoe had originally offered.”

Jack poured them each a drink, handed her one and sat himself down.

“Who is Harold Overton? And, are you saying that Topper Mayhew invented this hat band I’ve been hearing about? The one Virginia Dresden wanted to leave to her sons?”

“Harold Overton owns Chapoe Hats. Do try to keep up. And of course Topper didn’t invent the hat band. Topper would barely recognize a hat band. He stole the idea, Jack. He was having an affair with Gin Dresden and stole her idea.”

“That’s quite a leap to make,” he said, skeptically.

She flopped down across from him, rather irritated by his lack of enthusiasm. He cocked his head to one side and frowned. She looked so let down.

“Do you know the inventions are the same?”

“No, but what are the odds that there are two different hat band inventions? Both from people in the same company. Something is going on here.”

Jack debated whether to tell her what he’d learned from Mac. It really didn’t shed any new light and would most likely only cause her to dig her heels in further. Still, the oddities in these two deaths were piling up.

“I asked Mac to take a second look at Virginia Dresden’s post-mortem.”

She gave him a triumphant smile.

“Don’t look so pleased. She didn’t contradict Brandt’s findings.”

“But she found something, didn’t she?”

“In the stomach contents. Virginia Dresden had had tea shortly before she died and there were traces of Angel Trumpet.”

“The flower? Isn’t that deadly?”

“You’ve been paying attention on our trips to the botanical gardens, haven’t you?” he teased. “Yes, it can kill, but what else did I tell you about it?”

“That Victorian ladies would put the pollen in their tea as an aphrodisiac. Though you didn’t recommend we try that.”

“That would be definitely ill advised. I’ve seen people that have tried to use it for a high. The effects are more often frightening than pleasurable, that is if it doesn’t kill you.”

“Is that how Virginia died? From the plant rather than the gas?”

“No, Mac said she hadn’t taken enough to kill her, but it might have left her hallucinating or incapacitated.”

“How did Brandt miss that?” Phryne asked.

“He didn’t. It just didn’t change his opinion. Many suicidal people use illicit drugs. He considered that it might have altered her thinking and that perhaps she hadn’t intended to kill herself, but either way, he felt she was the only one responsible and therefore her death was self-inflicted.”

“Do you agree?”

“I’ve no reason not to.”

“Not yet anyway,” she said, grinning. “Let’s see what we can come up with over dinner.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s one thing to stumble upon murders with alarming frequency, Phryne, but I don’t think I like this new way you have of pulling mysteries out of thin air.” Jack tugged the string on his pajama bottoms tight around his hips. “Try not to make a habit of it. I’ve got enough on my plate these days without looking for work.”

“Sorry, darling,” she said, turning from her mirror to look at him.

He reached behind his head and tugged his singlet up and off, mussing his hair as it came. She imagined there would come a day when his abdomen muscles were no longer be so firm and his lovely hair would contain more grey. His eyes, however, would remain as blue as they currently were. His mind, gods willing, would retain its sharp intelligence and quick wit, and his heart would always be as generous and warm as it was today.

Things would change, they would grow older, but they hadn’t yet. She saw him pick up his nightshirt. She stood and moved swiftly across the room.

“I’ll take that, if you don’t mind.” She tugged the shirt from his hands and tossed it aside.

 

* * *

 

 

Phryne was just pulling herself from bed when Mr. Butler knocked.

“There’s a phone call for you, miss. A Mr. Martin,” he called through the door.

“Thank you, Mr. Butler. Tell him I’ll be just a moment.”

“Very well. And the inspector asked me to give you a message as he left this morning. He said to tell you he would make an official inquiry with the patent office in Canberra, and to ask if you might like to meet him later to visit a Mrs. Fannie Taylor together. He assured me you would know what all that means.”

“Yes, Mr. Butler. I understand perfectly. I’ll phone him as soon as I’m though speaking to Mr. Martin.”

Twenty minutes later, with her morning plans in place, Phryne hurried to bathe and dress before rushing out the door.

She arrived ahead of Topper and observed as he approached, his face a pleasant, but dispassionate front to her inquisitive glance. She’d never really paid him much attention before, but made a quick assessment now. He moved with a confidence bordering on arrogance and was impeccably dressed. The finely tailored, clearly expensive suit accentuated his slim but powerful build. The green patterned ascot at this throat was a match to the color of his eyes. His hair was dusty-blond, with an implied part at the side, a thick wave sweeping dramatically over his forehead.

He flashed her a brief, but dazzling smile as he slid into the chair beside her, his white teeth and full lips were topped by a pencil thin mustache of the latest fashion. Only slight bags under his eyes, perhaps from a lack of sleep, provided evidence he might suffer from any grief at his recent loss.

He was a handsome man, and she understood why many woman found him attractive, though she, herself, didn’t think him so. He smiled easily and exuded a certain charm, but she thought it a facade. His look was _au courant_ , but overly cultivated and uninteresting to her eye.

“Miss Fisher—Phryne. May I call you Phryne?” he said, once again flashing his charming smile and taking her hand in greeting. “Thank you so much for meeting me.”

“I’m sure it’s a very difficult time for you,” she said, demurely slipping her hand from his grip and gesturing for him to sit. He took the chair at her side rather than the one across the table.

“I’m so glad you’ve agreed to see me,” he repeated, “I’m finding myself at such loose ends these days. Without my brother, I’m quite lost,” he put in dramatically. He was speaking low and she had to lean in close to hear him clearly.

“I am so sorry. You and your brother must have been close.” She patted his hand sympathetically. She didn’t really believe his act but she did want him to trust her.

“Not as close as I’d have liked and I feel a bit guilty. I rebelled against Dennis some in my youth. After our father died, he took it upon himself to assume that role. Dennis was quite a bit older than I. I resented his control and tried to get away as fast as I could. As I’ve grown older, I hoped to try to get to know him again. You never know when you’re going to run out of time with someone, do you?”

“I suppose that’s true. Dennis and your mother were close, isn’t that right? I understood he still lived with her.”

“Yes. Dennis was very good to our mother. He was always accompanying her to various functions. I’m not sure he really had a life of his own, to be honest.”

“I guess you’ll have to step into his shoes a little now. For her sake.”

The warm, wistful look he’d been wearing altered and he appeared momentarily horrified by the thought.

“Yes, of course. She’ll need me more than ever now,” he said, catching himself and returning his face to a more benevolent looking expression.

“Well, I don’t suppose this is what you wanted to discuss. What is it you think I can help you with?” she asked.

“Can I count on you to be discreet?”

“Of course.”

An hour and half later, and past the time she’d said she’d be there, Phryne drove madly to the station to collect Jack for their trip to see Fannie Taylor.

Jack removed his hat preemptively and sat back as Phryne pulled away from the curb even more recklessly than usual. The patent office had confirmed that Virginia Dresden’s patent was for an adjustable hat band similar to the one Topper Martin had described to Harold Overton.

“Are you taking the job, with Martin?” He asked, over the roar of the wind.

“Yes.”

“What exactly is it he wants you to look into?”

“He’s concerned that nothing get in the way of his sale of the company. He wants me to keep an eye on Fred Taylor, which is convenient for us. He said he’s worried the man may be trying to sabotage the negotiations.”

“Maybe he knows about Taylor having met with Harold Overton.”

“Do you think Fred Taylor knows Topper is trying to steal his sister-in-law’s invention?”

“The road, Miss Fisher,” Jack implored as she took a corner at speed. He didn’t know why he bothered anymore, it never made a bit of difference, but he couldn’t help himself. Just like he couldn’t help occasionally pressing his own foot to the floor in mimic of the braking action she used so sparingly.

“We don’t even know he is stealing the invention,” Jack said. “All we really have is a lot of questions, and we won’t get any answers if we end up wrapped around a tree somewhere. For the love of pete, slow down. Fannie Taylor isn’t going anywhere.”

“We want to talk to her before her husband gets home,” she explained.

Within minutes they were pulling to the curb outside a row of single-story homes. The neat little string of identical cottages was a common sight in the Melbourne suburbs and popular housing for working class families. In two of the six attached brick and stucco structures, Virginia Dresden and her sister had lived side by side. A “For Let” sign hung from the wrought iron fretwork of one of the porches.

“Why now?” Fannie asked when they introduced themselves and told her they wanted to talk about her sister. “It seemed everything had been settled by the inquest. No one was interested in what I had to say then.”

“I’m sorry for that. We’d like to hear what you have to say now,” Phryne said.

She ushered them into the sitting room and looked around, embarrassed that there wasn’t actually anywhere for them to sit. It was clear that the house was still adjusting to the addition of her two young nephews. There was a mattress on the floor in the corner and neatly folded laundry piled on the only chairs in the room. Her own children, twins, a boy and a girl, clearly not yet two years of age, sat squirming in her arms and clinging to her skirt, respectively.

“Can I get you some tea?” she asked, setting her child down and shifting the laundry from one of the chairs onto the mattress.

“That’s kind of you, but not necessary. We won’t stay long,” Phryne said, sitting delicately on the chair she’d cleared. Fannie perched on the edge of the other while Jack remained standing, eyeing a bookcase on one wall that was very well stocked for such a meager looking household.

“You have an interesting collection here,” he said, pulling one book from the shelf. _A Century of Medical Advances_ , read the title. There were a number of well worn novels tucked among scientific journals, and books on chemistry. Another title caught his eye. _Killers Among Us. Australia’s Deadly Plants, Arachnids and Insects._

“Those are Fred’s. My husband. He wanted to study medicine or science. He’s real smart,” she said proudly. “Was on his way to University when his pop died and he had to go to work to help out his ma. She still had three little ones at home. He reads anything he can get his hands on. A lot like my sister that way. She was always borrowing his books.”

“I understand they worked together?” Phryne said.

“Fred helped her get the job at the mill. He said she was a real help there, always coming up with ideas to improve things.”

“Yes! She’d filed for a patent on an invention recently, hadn’t she? She mentioned it in her note.”

“Oh! that,” she said, apparently surprised by the question. “She was very excited about that.”

“She’d placed a lot of store in the invention, then?”

“Oh yes. She was still very optimistic it would be successful. She said she had an ally at the hat mill that was going to help her get it into production.”

“Any idea who this ally was?”

“She wouldn’t say.”

“Might you husband know?”

“He didn’t like it when I asked. Said he heard enough gossip from the women at work and didn’t want to hear it at home. He looked out for Gin, though. It was Fred that thought to apply for the patent—to protect her, you know?”

“Sound advice,” Phryne said. “I’m glad she followed it.”

“She didn’t actually,” Fannie admitted, sheepishly, looking down at her hands as they twisted in her lap. Fred would be upset with her, but they’d done nothing wrong, they’d only been looking out for Gin, and she didn’t like to lie to the police. “My sister is—was—brilliant. Book smart, you know? But she had not one lick of common sense and was far too trusting. Fred tried to convince her she needed to patent her invention, so that she’d be sure to get the proceeds when Martin’s or any other hat company adopted her invention. She didn’t think it was necessary. She said she didn’t intend to sell it to anyone other the Martin Hats. She said they’d been good to her and she was loyal to them. I heard her and Fred fighting over it. He thought she was being short sighted. Finally he decided to file for her, in secret.”

“How was he able to do that? Wouldn’t he have needed a lot of documentation?”

“I helped with that. I didn’t like to go behind her back but he explained it was really for her own good. It was easy enough to get my hands on her papers. I've got a set of keys to her place and could go in while she was working. We just wanted her to have what she was owed,” she said, sounding guilty and defensive at the same time.

“When did she discover what you’d done?” Jack asked, pulling a thread on a hunch.

“I’m—I don’t remember exactly,” she said. Fannie looked down, fussing with the child in her lap who had been perfectly content, but now started to squirm.

“You found your sister, is that right, Mrs. Taylor?” he said gently. Fannie nodded. “I know this is difficult, but can you tell us about that day?”

Fannie recounted, in a dull, monotone how she’d been returning from taking her twins for a stroll in the pram. “It’s the only way to get them both down for a little nap at the same time,” she said. “I was settlin’ the pram in the kitchen when I heard some noises from next door, which was odd, ‘cause the boys had school and Gin should have been working. I thought it was Bobby—Gin’s oldest—we’ve been having some trouble with him ducking out of class as of late, so I went next door to have a look. As I said, I’ve got a key, but I didn’t need to use it, the door was unlocked. I found her on the floor by the stove.”

Staring off into space and playing absently with her little girl’s hair, she went on to tell them that she’d shut off the gas and dragged her sister outside where her yells attracted some neighbors. Someone ran to find help. She wasn’t sure who, but soon a policeman arrived, and shortly after, an ambulance. All the commotion had woken the twins and she went back inside to check on them. She thought, then, to bring them outside, in case any of the gas had seeped into her home. There was quite a gathering on the lawn with neighbors standing about. The policeman had already been inside her sister’s to open all the windows and he asked her to accompany him back inside, to show him where she’d found Gin.

“And that was the first time you reentered the house after bringing your sister out?”

“Yes.”

“With the policeman?”

“Yes.”

“And the police had already been inside to open the windows to clear the gas?”

“Yes.”

“When did you find the note?”

She looked at him, blinking, her cheeks coloring. She bounced her child nervously on her lap. Her eyes began to fill with tears.

“You didn’t actually find the note, did you Mrs. Taylor?” Jack said.


	7. Chapter 7

“When did realize Fannie Taylor had written that note?” Phryne asked. She’d been silent for the first few minutes of the drive back to the station and Jack could tell she was put out that he’d not mentioned his thoughts to her earlier.

“I hadn’t any firm suspicions until today.”

He hadn’t arrested Fannie Taylor for interfering with an investigation, but he might still have to, depending on what they turned up next. It was clear the woman had been manipulated by her husband.

“Who do you think this ally at work was? I think it might have been Fred Taylor and maybe she didn’t want to tell her sister because they were having an affair?” Phryne said.

“My money’s on Topper Martin. It might explain how he found out about her invention.”

“It seems sloppy of Topper to become involved with someone that worked for him. Maybe Taylor told him about the invention. I think he’s slippery. Perhaps he and Topper planned together to steal Gin’s invention.”

“Then why put the patent in her name?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Taylor wants to keep his options open. We know he’s in cahoots with the competition, he manipulated his wife, and now, with his sister-in-law dead, he has the inheriting children under his control and rights to any royalties that patent might bring. Isn’t that all just a bit too convenient?”

“I don’t know how convenient it is, Phryne. Are implying he may have had a hand in her death?”

“Well, we now know she didn’t write that suicide note and what about this drug Mac found in her stomach? Someone might have drugged her, turned on the gas and left her for dead.”

Jack recalled the title of that book on Taylor’s shelf.

“He’d have to be an incredibly heartless man,” he said. “This is his wife’s sister we’re talking about and the only thing he’s really accomplished is acquiring two more mouths to feed. Do you truly think he’d resort to murder to get his hands on an invention that hasn’t even been proven valuable yet?”

“But if he knew it would be valuable…if he’s working with either Topper or Chapoe Hats...”

“We’re throwing everything at walls to see what sticks, but we don’t really have any evidence of a crime, other than Mrs. Taylor having forged that note, and I’d rather not get her in trouble over that. I’m not even supposed to be investigating anything. Not officially anyway.”

She felt slightly guilty. She’d dragged him down this road and it all might come to nothing. While she was free to follow any whim she chose, he had superiors to answer to, who would hold him accountable for his time.

“I think I need to find out a bit more about my friend Topper,” she said. “I may be giving him too much credit. I’m not sure he’s bright enough to be such a schemer. Maybe I’ll make an appearance at Binky McAlester’s party tonight. You could come along. I’m sure there will be plenty of his crowd there to interrogate. If lucky, we might run into the man himself and get more out of him in a social setting.”

“You mean you might get more out of him somewhere you can blatantly flirt,” Jack said.

“I can flirt anywhere, Jack. As several deceased individuals could attest,” she said, “had they been able to talk.”

He couldn’t argue with that, and colored slightly remembering all the times he found himself lost in her eyes or focused on her lips as a corpse lay before them.

“Very true, Miss Fisher, but as much as I enjoy watching you work, the last place I want to be tonight is at the home of someone called Binky. What is this tendency among you blue-bloods toward childish nicknames?”

“Don’t lump me in with them!” she cried. “You don’t mind if I go alone?”

“I’d prefer it. I’ll take this opportunity to go home and do some packing,” he said.

“Shall I stop by later to let you know what I learn?” She asked.

“Stop by later even if you learn nothing. You have the key.”

“I’ll do my best not to be too late.”

He nodded, slipping from the car and closing the door. His next impulse was to lean in and give her a parting kiss. She swayed toward him, raising her head with a small smile, but at the last moment he pulled back.

“Better not,” he said. “Public displays of affection with my soon-to-be landlord might cause tongues to wag.”

“Oh! Of course,” she said, Her smile widened, but she blinked rapidly and her brows knit slightly. Soon-to-be landlord was not a title she aspired to and she felt like a small pit had just dropped into her stomach. “I’ll just, uh, see you later, then?”

“I look forward to it, and, Phryne, if you do see Martin tonight, he may not be up to anything but—”

“I’ll be careful,” she said, finishing his thought.

 

* * *

 

“Looking for a new plaything, Phryne?”

“Just making conversation, Lillian,” Phryne said.

“Sure you are darling,” Lillian winked.

“While I’ve heard he is a charming man,” Phryne replied, “my interest in Topper Martin is more a matter of curiosity. I saw the news about his brother’s death in the paper. Have you known him long?”

Phryne had waited until the party was in full swing, then she’d sought out the biggest busybody she could find.

“I’ve known Topper nearly all my adult life,” Lillian said. “Our social circles have always overlapped, but I’m not sure there’s much I can tell you about him. Topper is something of a conundrum. He’s always personable and charming. Generally considered good fun, but a bit of a cad. He’s a heartbreaker that one. More than one girl has been led on only to be cast aside before long. I’d tell you to stay away from the man but I don’t really worry about you. You’ve never been interested in the long term anyway.”

“Perhaps we’re two peas in a pod,” Phryne said.

“So, you do intend to try your hand? I’d heard rumors of a romantic entanglement on your side—but perhaps that has been exaggerated?”

Phryne smiled enigmatically.

“I suspected as much,” Lillian crowed. “I said Phryne Fisher was as likely to settle down as I am to give up gin!”

Phryne let out a hollow laugh. To not contradict Lillian’s assumption felt like a betrayal of Jack but she thought the impression that she was free and available would be more advantageous under the circumstances. It made her interest in Topper more easily explainable. Unfortunately Lillian was unable to shed much light on the man beyond his propensity to seek a new conquest with alarming regularity. In fact, no one Phryne spoke with seemed to have much more than a superficial relationship with him.

More than one woman harbored ill feelings that Phryne put down to sour grapes. All of them complained about what a bounder Topper was while at the same time professing to find him most unappealing. Phryne was a little surprised by this attitude. It was a fast crowd, not usually concerned with the occasional liaison among consenting adults. She could only conclude that Topper misled these women as to his intentions.

Men described him as a good sport, generous, and an all around decent bloke. Most knew he got his money from the family business, but no one knew Topper was meant to be employed there. Everyone seemed to assume that the business was run by others and that Topper lived off a trust fund of some kind. He appeared to live an idle life. A few hinted at a propensity toward gambling and frequenting of some of the less reputable venues in town but he showed up regularly on the social scene and was generally well thought of. No one claimed to know him intimately.

She had yet to see the man himself. Perhaps he thought it unseemly to be seen at a party so soon after the death of his brother, she considered this as she took a sip of the cocktail she’d been nursing all night, It was a concoction far too sweet for her taste and had long since gotten warm. The crowd at the party, some of whom she’d known for years, were a little too bright and beautiful and concerned with their standing in society for her to really enjoy their company but keeping her foot in with them was helpful. It gave her connections to exploit for her work, and it made her Aunt Prudence happy to hear she was mixing with the “right” people.

She’d stayed long enough to remain in good graces. It was time to abandon her pursuit for the evening. She’d learned all she was likely to about Topper and it was nearing midnight, she longed to get back to Jack. She set her glass on a passing tray and began to weave her way across the crowded room. The bodies were packed tightly and her progress was slow. Before she’d made it halfway to the door she was stopped by a hand that settled upon her shoulder and she felt a body press close against her back. A familiar voice sounded in her ear.

“You’re not leaving?”

She turned to find the warm brown eyes of Topper Martin gazing into hers.

“Topper!” she said, mustering a pleasantly surprised expression. “How lovely to see you! But, yes, actually, I was on my way out.”

“I hope I can change your mind. I’d very much like the opportunity to dance with you.” He trailed his fingers slowly down the bared skin of her shoulder and arm.

“Well, I don’t generally mix business and pleasure,” she demurred, blinking up at him from downcast eyes.

“That’s very professional of you, but perhaps an exception could be made? Or, I could just fire you if that will help.” He flashed a charming smile, his trailing fingers ended at her hand and he took it up in his own, bringing it to his lips. She swayed toward him.

“I don’t think we need get that drastic. I’m sure a dance is innocent enough,” she said, letting him wrap her hand around his arm and lead her to the floor. “Besides, what fun is life if you can’t break the rules every now and then?”

They danced for several songs in a row. He was an excellent dancer, very light on his feet. He pulled her close at the right times and when his hand slipped down her back with a feather light touch it was quite thrilling. His cognac eyes were engaging and even the pencil mustache she’d at first found clichéd began to hold a certain appeal. His sandy blond hair, though foppish, gave him an endearing and boyish look, and the way he moved indicated a confidence in his body that held promise. She could see why many women had willingly gone home on his arm and wound up in his bed.

Even after they ceased dancing, he remained by her side. He was an attentive companion, showing great interest in her, appearing fascinated by everything she had to say. She got the impression he was attempting to ply her with drink but she wanted to keep her wits about her and politely refused his offers.

As amiable as he appeared, she found he was unusually good at concealing most everything about himself. He answered any personal questions vaguely and quickly turned the topic back to her. When she tried to steer the conversation toward his family business and the concerns that had caused him to hire her, he dragged her out onto the dance floor again, saying that business discussions were for the day.

Finally, feeling she was no better informed than before, and growing impatient to leave, she feigned fatigue and tried to escape him. He offered to see her home, and even after she explained that she had her own car, he refused to let her walk out alone, insisting on accompanying her to her automobile. He made a rather large show of offering his arm and steering her through the crowd, nodding in acknowledgment to, or greeting nearly everyone they passed. She felt oddly on display. When she stopped to say goodnight to her hostess, he said his farewells too, giving the distinct impression that they were leaving together.

She worried she’d given him the wrong idea and was steeling herself to let him down gently, her speech about not seeing client’s socially at the ready, but when they got to her car, he simply said goodnight and went on his way. She took her time pulling from the curb and drove slowly down the street, watching him in her rear view mirror. It looked as though he did not intend to return inside but seemed to be heading away from the party.

She puzzled over his actions, even glancing in her mirror to be sure he wasn’t following. She’d been sure he had been planning to proposition her but once they’d left the party behind he’d done nothing to pursue a dalliance.

She put him from her mind and headed for Jack’s, pleased to see a light still on inside when she arrived.

She let herself in and found Jack sleeping in his favorite chair. He was wearing his pajamas and a robe. His bare feet were tucked into slippers and resting on the ottoman. The book he’d been reading lay loosely held in the hand resting on his lap. She undressed as quietly as she could, down to her tap pants and camisole, then removed the book gently from his grip.

He stirred. Those blue eyes she adored opened and beamed up at her.

“You’re here,” he said, sleepily, his eyes roaming over her as a warm smile spread across his face. She watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard.

She set the book on the side table and slid into his lap. Without uttering a word, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. His hands settle on her hips, then slipped around to encircle her waist, gliding over the smooth silk of her lingerie. She got lost in the taste of his mouth and the feel of his hands on her body.

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” she said, when they finally parted.

“You can be as late as you like if this is how you make up for it,” he said, running his hands along her sides.

“You didn’t need to wait up for me.”

“I know. I did try to go to sleep, but the bed seemed so big without you,” he said shyly.

“Well, I’m here now and promise to take up far more than my fair share of space, but before you drift off again, I have plans for you. That kiss was just a preview.” She stood and stretched out her hand to him. “Come along, darling.”


	8. Chapter 8

She pulled the covers up over her head, resenting his little huffing laugh at her groan of displeasure. The phone at her home never rang at such an ungodly hour. She felt the mattress shift and sway as he got up. He moved quickly, shutting the bedroom door as he went to spare her from any more offensive noises. She must have drifted back into a light doze, because the next thing she noticed was the sway of the mattress again as he sat down beside her. She turned and opened her eyes to see Jack sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed in suit and tie, a breakfast tray in his hands.

“Where are you going?” she complained, sitting up.

The covers fell away and Jack was reminded that, at some point in the night, she’d grown chilled and had donned his pajama top. He watched, with a slight lump in his throat, as she pushed up the overlong sleeves and raised her hands so he could set the tray on her lap.

“I have to go out for a bit. I brought you a little breakfast by way of apology. I’m hoping it will entice you to stay and await my return. You can eat, or if you’d rather, I’ll take this away and you can go back to sleep. I shouldn’t be long.”

She glanced down at the tray. There was tea, and toast with jam, and two eggs done over-easy, they way she liked. He’d even included a small vase with a cutting from the garden. She picked up a piece of toast and poked the corner into the yolk of an egg, realizing she was rather hungry.

“Who was on the phone?”

“Russell Street,” he mumbled, knowing what was coming next.

“Cooper?”

“Deputy Commissioner Cooper, yes.”

“What does he want now?”

“It’s nothing. He wants an update on what I’ve been working on of late.”

“Does he know it’s your day off?”

“It will just take a minute.”

“The man has it in for you, Jack. If he’d had his way, everything you uncovered during the Pandarus incident would have been buried!”

“He didn’t get his way.”

“And he’s resentful. He’ll do anything to undermine you. What are you smiling at?”

“I appreciate your loyalty. But Cooper’s not the enemy and the man is my boss. I have to go when he calls.”

“That man is just afraid you’ll displace him,” she continued in her defense of Jack, “and he should be. You should have that job. You’re ten times the officer he is.”

“You know I didn’t want that job and remind me never to take you to a police function. I’m afraid you’ll give the entire upper ranks an earful and I’ll be worse off than I am now.”

“I’m always the perfect companion,” she insisted. “I’d just tactfully point out what an asset they have in you.”

He pictured what it’d be like to walk into one of those functions with her on his arm. Some of them were tiresome, puffed up affairs, but he quite liked the Fireman and Policeman’s Ball. It was a time to mingle with everyone from the top brass down to beat cop. She’d outshine every other woman there and he’d be the envy of every man. It made him ache to know they could never be that public with their relationship. Not if he intended to live with her under the guise of being her tenant, but to be able to wake by her side each morning and come home to her each night would be worth it.

He watched as she tucked into the breakfast with relish and his heart swelled with love for her. She seemed oblivious to his sudden wave of emotion.

“You’ll be here when I get back?” He asked.

“Of course. I’ve got this delicious breakfast to finish. Then perhaps I’ll catch a bit more shut-eye, or take a bath.”

“Maybe you could hold off on that bath until I return.” He said, toying with the top button of his pajama top where it settled between her breasts.

“As you wish, but don’t be too long or I will start without you.”

She watched him go, then looked down at the tray in her lap, lifting a magnolia bloom from the little jar in and bringing it close to inhale it’s fresh scent of lemon and vanilla. She knew just where in his garden they grew, having spent more than one morning sitting in the shade, watching him work, while sipping her tea. They’d developed something of a routine for the days she spent here—which his leaving now was disrupting—but she’d have him make that up to her later.

Normally, he’d awaken before her. Sometimes, they’d have both awakened earlier, one of them reaching for the other to indulge in a lazy, morning love-making session, before falling back to sleep in each other’s arms. Either way, he’d be out of bed well before she rose.

By the time she’d find her way to the kitchen, he’d have coffee ready and would pull together something for them to eat. She’d sit down at the little worn, wooden table in his kitchen and watch as he fried up some eggs with potatoes or tomatoes or whatever else he had to hand. After breakfast they’d wash up the dishes together while deciding on what they wanted to do that day. Some days she just liked to sit and watch him putter around his garden, other days they’d visit a museum or go to the beach. There were also days they barely made it out of bed.

On the colder, or rainy days, they’d curl up in front of the fire and read. If she was feeling especially lazy, they’d sit on the couch, her head in his lap, and he’d read aloud to her. That was how he’d gotten her to join him in his enjoyment of Zane Grey novels. Hearing the stories read out in Jack’s rich tones allowed her to envision the wide plains and golden sunsets in a way just reading them herself never could have. She’d also been surprised by the amount of romance to be found in some of them. She hadn’t expected Jack would enjoy that kind of storyline. Not that he wasn’t romantic. He was decidedly that. He was always doing little things, or big things, to surprise her.

A few months after her return from England, he’d gifted her with the most delightful pushbike. A belated birthday gift, he’d said. It was painted in a sea-foam green, with white accents and a brown, padded leather seat. It even had a little wicker basket on the front handlebars. It was decidedly feminine, and not much of a match for his racing-style bike, but she didn’t mind. She’d never had a bike growing up and he thought this sturdy little one, with its wide tires, would be a good starter for her. She kept it in his garage along side his and she adored it.

There’d been many summer days when they’d gone for rides that carried them away along the river or into the countryside. She’d bring a small, packed lunch in her basket. He’d roll up a blanket and lash it to his bike, and when they tired, they’d stop somewhere and rest in the shade of a tree, enjoying the food and each other’s company.

She finished her breakfast and took the tray back to the kitchen to wash up the dishes. Looking through the window above the sink, she could see it was going to be a fine day and decided that when he got back, they’d go for a cycle ride. She got dressed and headed out to the market to pick up something special to take along to eat.

Jack returned in just over an hour in a very good mood.

“I told the deputy commissioner that a possible case of espionage had come to my attention and that I wanted to pursue it. I said it might affect a prominent company that employed nearly one hundred people here in Melbourne and he agreed it was worth looking into. Now I can officially pursue the question of who the rightful owner of that invention really is.”

“But not today, Jack. That mystery can wait. I’ve made other plans for us.”

Not having gotten off to as early a start as they might have liked, they only went so far as Fitzroy Gardens. From Jack’s place it was a short ride to reach the Yarra, where they rode along the banks to the edge of the botanic gardens and crossed over at Morell Bridge. Then they cut away toward the park, skirting the Cricket Grounds and continuing on to the gardens.

They were far from alone on this temperate November day. There was quite a crowd of people gathered around the ancient Red Gum tree. A sculptor by the name of Ola Cohn was carving the likenesses of fairies, gnomes and other fantastical creatures into the dead wood of its trunk. She’d been working on her “Fairy Tree” for nearly a year now and Phryne and Jack often stopped to check her progress. Today it was a brief stop before moving on to find somewhere more secluded to enjoy the late luncheon Phryne had packed for them. They found a spot on a quiet expanse of lawn, Jack spread the blanket and they sat down under the dappled shade of a cape chestnut.

“You never told me what you learned last night,” Jack said.

“That’s because I didn’t learn much at all. Try as I might, I couldn’t steer the topic to the Hat Mill. I never got anywhere near mentioning the invention.”

“So, you did see him then? Topper Martin?”

“Oh, yes. He was there, and he was very attentive.” Having finished eating, she lay down on her back looking up into the tree. It was in bloom, and delicate, rosy pink blossoms covered its boughs. Jack packed away the remains of their lunch and settled beside her, propped up on one elbow.

“Attentive was he? Perhaps I should have come along,” he teased, picking up a blossom that had fallen to the ground and tucking it into her hair, behind her ear.

She eyed him curiously. There was a time the sureness in his voice would have grated, but she found she didn’t mind that he was so convinced of her affection.

“You’re only concerned that I might solve this mystery before you, and show you up to your superiors,” she said.

“If that bothered me, I’d have torn my hair out long ago.”

He flopped down on to his back then, folding his hands behind his head. She slid closer to him and turned her body to his, settling her head in the crook of his shoulder and laying a hand on his chest. His arm dropped down to rest against her back.

“So, where to you intend to start with your ‘official’ investigation?” She asked.

“I think I should pay a visit to Mr. Martin and his factory foreman. I’d like them in the same room when I mention the invention so I can see their reactions.”

“I think you best bring me with you, I am suppose to be looking out for Topper’s business interests, after all.”

“If you like,” he murmured, his hand moving in slow circles over her back.

She looked up at him. His eyes were closed and he had a small, serene smile playing on his lips. She glanced around to make sure they were quite alone and pressed her mouth to his. His contented hum sent a little chill down her spine and curled her toes.

* * *

The exchange in Topper Martin’s office the next morning was a tense one. They’d asked Topper to call Taylor to the office and then Phryne had explained that she’d learned, through her inquiries, that the invention Topper had mentioned in his negotiations with Chapoe, appeared to be the same his former employee had recently patented.

“I’ve involved Detective Inspector Robinson because I fear there may have been some kind of fraud, or theft of individual property rights. Which would be considered a crime.”

She wasn’t sure which man was more surprised. Either they were not working together, or they were both very good actors.

Taylor claimed the idea for the hat band had been, as far as he knew, his sister-in-law’s alone. He said she’d discussed it with him many times as she was developing it and that he’d helped her apply for the patent.

Topper, for his part, insisted that it had been an idea he and his brother had thought of long ago and that they had worked on the specifics together. When asked how it was possible that one of their employees had come up with the very same idea, he was quick with an explanation, and it did not flatter Virginia Dresden.

“My brother was a lonely man,” he said. “He could easily have had his head turned by a pretty and attentive woman. I understand that Mrs. Dresden was a widow and considered attractive. Perhaps she thought cozying up to the boss would improve her station in life. She may have gotten Dennis to confide in her and then taken advantage by helping herself to the invention.”

Taylor bristled, hardly able to hold his tongue.

“That would make her a very duplicitous person, Mr. Martin. Have you any evidence to back up your rather scurrilous assertion?” Jack asked.

“I don’t. I’ll admit I was not around enough to notice if Dennis showed a partiality toward any one employee.”

“Gin didn’t steal that idea,” Taylor burst in, unable to keep silent. “I never saw any partiality toward Gin by Mr. Dennis. Nor her to him, and I was on the floor with her everyday.”

“Yes, you are in a position to know what’s going on around here, aren’t you Taylor?” Topper said. “I’ve spoken to the bank and been told about some payments my brother made to you that I could find no explanation for. Now I’m wondering if perhaps you knew of their affair and he was paying you to keep quiet.”

“Of course not! I would never! That money was for Gin. And, for her boys,” Taylor sputtered. He turned to the detectives. “It was after she—died. Mr. Martin gave me that money to help pay for the hospital costs and then, later, he gave me more and told me to put something away for her boys.”

“I thought you said he showed no partiality toward her,” Topper said, in a way that made it sound as though his point had been made.

“He didn’t! Mr. Martin cared for all his employees. He was a good man.”

“I’m beginning to think my brother cared a bit too much for his employees. Especially this sister-in-law of yours.”

“Topper, that is most ungenerous. To Mr. Taylor, your brother and Mrs. Dresden. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for all of this,” Phryne said.

“I’m sorry, Phryne.” Topper looked properly chastised. “You’re right. I have no proof of any of this. These last few days have been a nightmare. I’m trying to get my head around the business and I’m still mourning Dennis on top of it all. I don’t know what I’m saying. Can you forgive me?” he implored, reaching out to take her hand.

His pleading, and the overly familiar way he addressed her, struck Jack as odd. It was too personal by half. The assistant, who Jack thought was fighting her urge to run to the comfort of her distraught employer, had startled when he’d taken Phryne’s hand. Clearly, she didn’t like this development one bit.

Phryne nodded in understanding, giving Topper a sweet smile.

“It’ll do no good to run off accusing people of illicit affairs and blackmail,” Phryne said, patting his hand before pulling her own away. “Perhaps it would be best if Mr. Taylor returned to work, now? If you’ve nothing else to ask him, Inspector?”

“Not at the moment,” Jack confirmed.

Taylor returned to his post and Phryne leaned toward Topper, speaking to him in an urgent and slightly intimate manner.

“Now, Topper, if you could just produce some paperwork that would show the idea was yours and your brothers, we should be able to settle this right now.”

“The trouble is, my brother had so many files they were overtaking the office. I’ve moved some to boxes to be placed in storage. I’m afraid the paperwork might be lost somewhere among them.”

They’d seen close to a dozen boxes on their way in. They were stacked in the outer room where the poor assistant was likely tripping over them.

“Why don’t you let us take those and look through them for you? You have so much on your plate right now,” Phryne suggested.

“I don’t know. There might be confidential business information in there.”

“Actually, you don’t really have much choice, Mr. Martin,” Jack interjected. “Right now we have evidence of either espionage or fraud. Virginia Dresden’s sister has turned over her work to the police. If you can’t produce yours immediately, I’m going to have to confiscate those boxes and have them searched. It can either be done discreetly by Miss Fisher and myself, or by my men, here in your offices.”

“It wouldn’t look good to have a constant police presence when you’re trying to sell your company,” Phryne urged.

Martin reluctantly allowed that they should take the boxes with them. Jack went to make the call to have a few men come and transport them to the station and waited until they’d arrived to make sure the boxes weren’t tampered with before they could be moved.

“Topper certainly had an answer for everything, didn’t he?” Phryne said, linking her arm through Jack’s as they walked back to her car. Jack made a grunting noise she took as agreement. “He was awfully quick with his theories, and didn’t you find it too convenient that he was unable to find the files to back his claim?”

“You didn’t find his bumbling disorganization charming?” Jack said with a wry smile.

“That assistant of his certainly did. He definitely has her under his spell.”

“Speaking of being under a spell, you seemed to have enthralled young Mr. Martin. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“I’m not. His assistant clearly saw it too, and she doesn’t like you much for it.”

“Are you jealous?” she asked, something in his tone confused her.

“No, not jealous, as such, but it was odd.”

“You find it odd that a man might become enamored of me? I think I’m insulted, Jack.”

He rolled his eyes. “This is not a commentary on your appeal to the opposite sex, Phryne. I know the effect you can have on a man. First hand, as it happens. In addition, I’ve witnessed it often enough now not to find it surprising but this seemed different.”

“How so?” She’d noticed nothing out of the ordinary herself.

“I’m not sure. It was almost as though there really were something between you two.”

“Topper Martin?” she scoffed. “Give me some credit for having better taste than that! Topper Martin will never find his way into my bed.”

 _But, another man might?_ The thought stopped Jack dead in his tracks. He shook it off, he was letting his petty jealousies creep in again. They were moving in together. If that didn’t mean she was committed to him, what did?

But then, they’d not really ironed out any specifics of what it meant. Would anything be substantially changed, other than his address? She had mentioned something about him having his own room. What situations did she envision him needing it for?

It wasn’t possible she expected him to decamp to that other room so she could entertain other men in her room on occasion. Was it?

 _No._ She couldn’t expect that he’d agree to that and she’d never humiliate him that way.

“Jack? Are you listening?”

She pulled his focus back. He shook his head slightly to clear the webs.

“I’m sorry—what were you saying?”

“I asked what you thought of Taylor.”

“I thought he was furious” he said, his mind only halfway with her. “Only fear of losing his position had him holding his tongue at all.”

“He did not take kindly to the suggestion of blackmail, or the implication of duplicity on Virginia Dresden’s part.”

“Martin alleged a bit more than duplicity.”

“Do you think it’s possible? My gossipy friend seemed to think Gin Dresden was having an affair? Could it have been with Dennis Martin?”

“I suppose anything is possible.”

“I think we need to know more about Gin Dresden. Maybe I should take advantage of Topper’s having hired me and poke around a bit. You can start going through those boxes without me, can’t you?”

“Sure,” he said distractedly.

“I’ll drop you at the station and then come back to see Topper on my own. Hopefully he’ll give me free rein to talk to the his employees.”

Jack’s hand hovered over the handle of the passenger side door. He looked up at her with an expression she found puzzling.

“No. I don’t want to put you out of your way. I’ll catch a ride back with one of the men. You go ahead and see Martin.”

“Are you sure? It’s no trouble.”

“I’m sure. I can help with the boxes,” he said, _and I need some time to think some things through_ , he added to himself.

Topper was thrilled to see Phryne return and more than happy to let her on to the manufacturing floor. The problem was, he insisted on accompanying her and rather than letting her investigate, he paraded her around as though he were giving her a tour, though he clearly knew nothing about the work being done.

She saw Fred Taylor across the room, looking angry. He disappeared from the floor almost immediately. Apparently prudently taking his break before he did or said anything to his new boss that might threaten his employment.

Phryne tried to pursue her line of questioning, but was getting nowhere with Topper at her side, his hand on her back, introducing her to all his employees as though they were at a party. The man was far too friendly and clearly had no idea how to be in charge.

She finally got him to return to his office after he made her promise to stop by on her way out. The employees, however, remained surprisingly reluctant to gossip. At first she thought it might be loyalty to their co-worker, but then she looked up and saw Topper standing in his office window looking down on her. The man was a hindrance. She marched back upstairs to speak to him.

“I’m sure you can understand why the employees would clam up if they fear there might be repercussions for answering my questions,” she said, “I can’t do my job with you hovering, Topper.”

“Of course. I’m sorry. I simply wanted to make sure they welcomed you and that you didn’t leave before I had a chance to speak to you again.”

“You needn’t have worried. I know how to ingratiate myself with others and I always keep my clients abreast of any pertinent information.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt your professionalism, but I was hoping to speak with you on a more personal matter,” he said, moving around his desk to take the seat at her side.

“Oh?” Something in his body language set off alarm bells. “Is there something you’ve remembered that might help the case?”

“This has nothing to do with the case. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the other night, when I held you in my arms as we danced. I want to see you again. Not as a private detective and client, but as a man and a woman,” he said, the overwrought passion in his tone took her by surprise.

“I’m flattered, Topper,” she lied, “but I never socialize with clients while I’m on a case, and even if I weren’t working for you, I would still be unavailable.”

He looked confused.

“I’m involved with someone,” she said, definitively.

“I see no ring, Miss Fisher.” He reached for her left hand, drawing it toward him and kissing it lightly. She suddenly realized how often he touched her or took her hand, and it was all she could do not to pull it violently away.

“What’s the harm in a little dinner?” he said. “You might find you enjoy my company. At the very least you should give me a chance to prove myself to you. It would serve the fool right for not troubling to declare his intentions for all to see. If I had a woman like you, you can be sure I’d want the world to know it.”

He was speaking low and leaning in so intimately, it made her skin crawl. She drew her hand delicately back from his grasp, but her reply was sharp.

“Topper, please. This is most inappropriate. As I’ve said, I don’t mix business with pleasure, and as for declaring intentions. I know his, and he mine, and that is all that matters.”

“I meant no offense,” he apologized. “Surely, you can’t blame a man for trying? I hope this won’t affect your ability to continue on the case.”

“No. Of course not, but I have to know that you truly want my help and you must stop these advances.”

“I absolutely do want your help. This sale is of utmost importance to me, nothing can get in the way.”

“Then let me do my job unhindered.” She stood to go. “I’ll be sure to keep you informed of what I find.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped my bounds. Tell that fellow of yours that he’s a very lucky man.”

“He knows.” she smiled coyly over her shoulder as she left.

The assistant, who was seated at her desk outside the office, gave Phryne a very cold look as she left. _Don’t let me worry you,_ Phryne thought, _he’s all yours_.


	9. Chapter 9

She opened the door to his knock and laughed.

“No need for formalities any longer, Jack.” How he’d even managed to knock with his arms so loaded she couldn’t imagine.

He bent to kiss her cheek then went to drop the boxes he carried inside the parlor, before hanging up his coat and hat. He took note of a large vase of red roses on the table by the phone. Phryne never bought herself roses. She preferred a mixed arrangement of blooms.

“From an admirer?” he asked.

“Oh. Just Topper. He’s trying to apologize for being a nuisance today.”

The accompanying note had been more along the lines of a continuation of his pursuit than an apology. The man apparently had yet to get the message, which irritated her to no end.

“Did you bring the boxes I help you pack? We can take them right to the library,” she suggested.

“No. Those aren’t my books. Just some of the files we took today from Martin. Do you mind if we step into the parlor?”

He was so stiff. Even his greeting kiss had been stilted. A strange disquiet fell over her. She extended her hand, inviting him through. He moved directly to the bar cart, pouring himself a drink and raising the bottle in offer to her, she nodded. After handing her the drink he stood awkwardly staring at the floor.

“Jack? Is something wrong?”

“I think we need to have a conversation. Before I move in here,” he said.

“What about? Have you changed you mind?”

“No, not at all. I just need to make sure I understand what it all means.”

“What it means?”

“You know I’m utterly committed to you and that I’ve never required absolute fidelity—in a sexual sense.”

“Yes, and I appreciate that, but as I said before, I haven’t felt any need to take advantage of that.”

“But the possibility has always been there and when we talked about my moving in, you did mention the need for my having my own room here.”

She blinked as his meaning dawned on her. She was absolutely offended.

“You’re not thinking—first of all, Jack, I didn’t say it was a need. I thought you’d want a place that was just yours. A place to go if you needed solitude. How could you think—did you really imagine I’d bring someone into our home? Under your nose? I may be liberal in my thinking, but that is beyond the pale!”

When she’d said it out loud like that, he realized how preposterous it sounded. Still, he couldn’t help but notice she’d only really ruled out having a lover here, in the home they were planning to share, he wasn’t sure it would be enough for him anymore.

“I didn’t mean that,” he hurried in, “I’ve done this badly. I know you’d never do that to me but we keep moving forward in great leaps without ironing out details and it leads to misunderstandings. I don’t want that.”

“Well, I don’t want that either.” She still bristled with indignation.

“This has been on my mind a lot today. More than it should have been but I don’t think I can live with you unless I know it will be just us. I don’t think I could handle the possibility of you with another man anymore. Not while we share a roof. Is that something you can live with? Because, if it’s not, I need to know now.”

“But, Jack, there’s been no one else. You know that. Why would that change now?”

“I’m not saying it will. But as long as it’s an option, I know I’ll never feel entirely secure. That’s my own failing. I thought I was better than this. I never wanted to make it a requirement that you be absolutely faithful to me alone.”

“And now you do?”

“No, not a requirement. I’d like to know that it’s your choice to be with only me, as it is mine to be only with you.”

She thought she’d already shown him her choice through her actions. All this drama and talking things through made her anxious. But if he needed her to say it aloud, would it really be that hard to do? She took a deep breath.

“It is, Jack. It is my choice. For as long as we’re together, there will be no one else,” she said, earnestly, reaching across to take his hands in her own.

“As long as we’re together,” he repeated. “How long do you envision that to be?”

“I don’t know, Jack!” she snapped, standing to pace across the room. “Do you? How can anyone know how long anything lasts? I want this to last for a very long time. I wouldn’t have asked you to move in if I didn’t. What more do you want from me? Shall I give you a date and time when I’ll want you gone? And why is it presumed that I’ll be the one to want it to end? I don’t remember you being so terribly successful with lifelong commitment!”

It was below the belt. Who could have predicted that war and the havoc it would wreak on so many lives. And she knew how he regretted it.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was cruel.”

“No, you’re right. I’m expecting too much. There are no guarantees in life, but my marriage fell apart in large part due to a failure to communicate. I take my share of blame for that. I didn’t think I’d love like this again, or ever, for that matter. I don’t mean to belittle what I had with Rosie, but this is different. I lost her and I survived. Sometimes, when I think of being without you, I don’t honestly know if I could to it.”

“You could, you know,” she said, gently, “but I’ve no intention of letting you find that out.”

She moved toward his chair and he reached for her, leaning forward to lay his head against her stomach as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

“Where is all this coming from? I don’t want anyone else, Jack. I haven’t for a long time now. I don’t know how to get that through to you. I’ve never done this before. All I know for sure is that I love you. Isn’t that enough?”

“It should be, shouldn’t it?”

“But it’s not?” She backed away from him, flopping down in the chair.

“It is, Phryne. It is. I know these are my own problems, not yours. I try not to bother you with them, but sometimes, they get the better of me.”

“I’d rather you bother me! At least then I’ll know what you’re thinking. So. What are you thinking? Is this about more than just not wanting me to be with other men?”

She settled back in her chair, watching him intently and he was reminded of a time she’d promised to put him on a couch and psychoanalyze him. Perhaps it was time to lay it on the line.

“I was in deep with this a long time ago, Phryne, and I knew that what I had always wanted in life was not something you would be able to offer. I tried to walk away, but in the end, I found out that what I really wanted—the only thing I wanted so much I couldn’t do without—was you.

“I knew, that if you’d have me, it wasn’t going to be conventional and it wasn’t going to be easy. My life wouldn’t look the way I’d pictured it, but that wasn’t a bad thing, it was just different. Different in a really wonderful way, as it turns out. I know that you’re faithful to me Phryne and I know fidelity is about more than sexual exclusivity. I wish this didn’t matter to me, but the truth is, I don’t want anyone but you and a part of me is always hoping that you feel the same. That I’m enough for you. That I’ll always be enough for you. Can you understand that?”

She wondered if she’d been a little unfair. He’d given up a lot for her. He’d put aside any hope of marrying again and even allowed that she might want other sexual partners. She’d always understood that they saw sex differently. They both enjoyed the carnal pleasure it brought, but he viewed it as much more than that.

For Jack, sex was always an act of love and intimacy. When she was with Jack, it was for her, too. So much so, that sex without that intimacy didn’t hold the appeal it once did.

All this time she’d told herself that she’d never taken another lover because she didn’t want to hurt him, and that was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth. She’d never pursued another sexual encounter because she simply hadn’t wanted to, because it would feel hollow compared to what she had with him. But she’d never told him that.

“You know, Jack, if you’d given me an ultimatum when we began, I’d have balked.”

“I’m not giving you an ultimatum now, Phryne. I’ve no right to require anything of you. I’m just trying to tell you how I feel and what I need. Whether you can live with it is your choice.”

“I understand. Let me finish, please. You’re right that the choice is mine to make, but I made it a long time ago. I might like my freedom, including the freedom to go out at night and drink and dance and even flirt. But, at the end of the day, Jack, I just want to come home. And that means you. You’re the love of my life. There’s no one else I want and there’s not going to be. Deep down, you know that, don’t you?”

“Yes. I suppose I do,” he admitted, sheepishly, “but it’s awfully nice to hear you say it.” The relief that followed, left him a little light headed.

“I should say it more often but I didn’t really think you needed me to. If you weren’t already so sure of me, you’d never be so smug when we go to all those society parties,” she teased. The heaviness of the moment was becoming too much for her.

“I’m not smug!” He objected. She was suddenly too far away. He reached over and pulled her onto his lap.

“You’re smug, Jack Robinson,” she laughed, winding her arms around his neck. “You watch me roam about and flirt and dance and you never get possessive or jealous. In fact, sometimes, I think you like it. You know those others can’t hold a candle to you.”

“Now you’re just stroking my ego. I do have faith in you, Phryne, but I’m not smug. If anything, I’m proud when you take me to those parties. I love walking into a place with you on my arm and then watching you work the room. You’re magnificent.” He caressed her cheek tenderly. “And, knowing that I get to go home with you? Well—I still can’t believe my luck.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it. You’re what I want, Jack. And I always get what I want.”

“As well you should,” he said.

“Very true, and what I want now is to eat. I have a feeling Mr. Butler has been postponing disturbing us and is at risk of having his carefully prepared roast ruined by overheating.”

“There’s a roast?” Jack said, standing and unceremoniously dumping her from his lap. “Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

After dinner, feeling much more settled, they sat across from each other in the parlor, and Phryne made the opening move on the checkered board set between them.

“Did you find anything in the files today?”

“Not yet, but Collins heard something interesting while supervising the removal of them from Martin’s office. It seems Dennis Martin’s allergy wasn’t unknown.” Jack made an ill-advised move. He sometimes lost focus when they played while simultaneously discussing a case

“What do you mean?”

“Hugh was chatting with that assistant. He said something about how awful it must have been for her to have found him like she did and asked her how she was doing.”

“Hugh is always so thoughtful,” Phryne said.

“She mentioned that he’d come to work one day, not long ago, all swollen about the eyes and had told her he’d been stung while having tea in the back garden. That it had made him quite ill for a bit and he’d had to consult a doctor. She’d never imagined it could be so serious as to kill him.”

“Mac did say the reaction can be mild with one contact, but a subsequent contact with the allergen would be more severe.” She said, executing a double jump of his pieces.

Jack frowned and corrected his play, making a move that would force her to jump his man and move into a trap.

“The point is, Dennis Martin must have known he had an allergy. I imagine he was terrified when he found himself alone that night and unable to get to help.” Jack said.

She did as he expected and he got his revenge for her earlier move, jumping three of her men and moving his piece in position to be crowned. Her face screwed up into an adorable little pout.

“If he knew about the allergy, I wonder if anyone else did. Surely anyone at the factory would have noticed the swelling, like his assistant did, and didn’t he live at home with his mother?” She made a counter move, blocking the path of his new Queen.

“What are you getting at?” While, she’d blocked his Queen, he saw that she’d left herself open elsewhere for another double capture, and took advantage of her mistake.

“Just that if someone knew of the allergy, perhaps they used it to their benefit.”

Annoyed at having made a move without enough forethought, she made a quick calculation of her next few moves, and proceeded with more caution.

“Haven’t we found an interesting enough case for you? Are you still hoping to find a murder somewhere? Why would anyone have wanted to kill Dennis Martin? Besides, they might have known he had an allergy, but they didn’t necessarily know it could kill him. And it’s a damn stupid way to kill someone anyway.”

He frowned. Her move required him to capture her man and put himself in a distinctly disadvantaged position.

“Or, a terribly clever way. We know that Dennis and Topper were fighting over whether or not to sell the business.” She jumped two of his men to land behind his lines. “Crown me,” she said.

“But Dennis was generous with Topper. That would make him more valuable alive than dead. Besides, Topper said he didn’t know Dennis had an allergy.”

“How could he not? If Dennis had an episode that required a doctor’s visit and left him swollen and disfigured, how is it possible Topper didn’t notice and inquire?”

“Maybe he didn’t care enough to ask.” He positioned a man so that any move her new Queen made would result in immediate capture. He’d lose a man along the way, but needs must.

After a few more turns between them, she sat back. There were no more moves to be made. They’d played to a draw.

“Let’s stick to solving the mystery we actually have, shall we?” He said. “We need to see if we can find this missing file of Martin’s to support his claim. I doubt it exists, but we have to look.”

“I suppose that’s way you’ve dumped those boxes in my parlor? Was it necessary to bring all of that?” She waved her arm in the direction of the overflowing cardboard boxes tucked up in a corner of the room.

“Now it’s back to being _‘your’_ parlor? Am I banished before I’ve even moved in?”

“Of course not, but perhaps we should make a rule that any work brought home find a place in the library. That room is out of the way and rarely seen by guests.”

Even though he fully intended to have removed the boxes to the station by morning, he rose and heaved them both up into his arms.

“I will take them from your sight, Miss Fisher,” he said, nodding in an obsequious manner and heading out of the room. “Though I was unaware you were expecting guests this evening,” he grumbled, under his breath.

When he didn’t return, she grabbed their drinks and went looking for him, finding him seated cross-legged on the floor in stocking feet and shirt-sleeves. An errant curl had escaped and fallen over his forehead. One of the boxes was opened, and a ledger book lay in his lap.

“Here’s where you’ve got to! I only wanted the boxes gone, Jack. Not you.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t hiding. I just meant to take a quick look inside and—”

“You fell down a rabbit hole? Find anything interesting?”

“Possibly.”

She set the drinks down to squat down behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders to steady herself.

“What is that? A record of payments Dennis made to Topper?”

“It goes back several years. It also tracks the hours Topper spent at the office,” Jack said, running his finger under several lines.

“So I see. Topper may not have been fond of the business, but he seems to have had no trouble using the proceeds it provided. Dennis kept meticulous records.”

“Down to the penny. Comparing payments to hours worked, Dennis was more than generous with his little brother.”

“So, one did the work and the other had all the fun.”

“At least this provides one clue that might make our work easier. As you noted, Dennis Martin was a meticulous man. All his files are dated and labeled. If Dennis and Topper developed the invention together, as Topper claims, we should start looking for the paperwork in files that correspond to the dates Topper was at the office.”

“Brilliant deduction, detective,” she said, running her hand over his chest and tucking her head in to kiss his neck. She’d felt bad about scolding him over the boxes and wanted to make it up to him. He put the ledger down and turned to pull her onto his lap.

“Bringing work home isn’t usually this enjoyable,” he said, kissing her thoroughly.

“Happy to keep you entertained but we’re getting distracted from the case.” She arched her head back to give him access to her neck. He had a knack for finding just the right spot to send her reeling.

“I’m off the clock,” he said, turning his full attention to her and lavishing her neck with his lips, his hands moving over her. Her own hands began to wander and before long they drifted to his lap. Jack was soon very pleased with the privacy the out of the way library provided.

Later, he rolled to her side, slightly abashed that they both remained mostly clothed. It’d been awhile since they’d been quite so impatient. Her blouse was open and her skirt was bunched at her waist. His trousers were tangled at his knees. He tugged at her skirt to cover her and then pulled his own clothing back into place.

“I have to tell you Miss Fisher. I think I’m going to enjoy living here. None of my previous landlords have ever done that,” he said, giving her a cheeky grin, “or—at least not as well.”

If Mr. Butler had heard nothing yet, he certainly heard Miss Fisher’s laughter now. She sat up, running her hand through Jack’s already tousled hair.

“Why don’t we take a few of these files and head up to bed?”

“Hmmm,” he gave a slight shake of his head. “Now I’m the one that must suggest a rule. No work in the bedroom.”

“But, we do some of our best there, Jack.”

“You know what I mean. I don’t think we should start hauling our cases to bed with us.”

“We often discuss cases in bed,” she said, perplexed.

“Discussing is one thing. Bringing case files and evidence in is another. I don’t want to get in the habit of that. Does that make sense? That’s our personal space, where we’re not the Inspector and the Lady Detective but just Phryne and Jack.”

“ _Phryne and Jack_. I like the sound of that. Although, I’m not averse to a little game of the Inspector and the Lady Detective—or any other persona you might like to explore.”

“You’re irredeemable,” he said.

“And you love it.”

“I love _you_.” He stood and reached for her hand. “I think we should leave this for now. I can get some men started on pulling the dates we need in the morning.”

She let him help her to her feet. Once she was upright, he pulled her to him and kissed her passionately.

“Definitely time for bed, Jack,” she said, smiling up at him.

He bent to pick up the files he’d scattered around the floor and started to put them back in their boxes.

“Leave that,” she said, taking his hand and leading him from the room.


	10. Chapter 10

“You’re actually getting out of bed?” he said, when he saw her rise and pull on her dressing gown. She came to him and pushed his hands out of the way so she could finish knotting his tie herself.

“I wanted to have breakfast with you. I’m not guaranteeing I’ll stay up, unless you have some interesting investigative plans for the morning that I can help with?”

“Hmm.” He ran his now unoccupied hands over her hips. “As it happens, I have some highly interesting things to investigate right here that require your presence.”

“I meant with the case,” she scolded.

“Sadly, nothing interesting there. Just digging through files, but you’re more than welcome to join me.” She screwed up her face and he laughed. “I didn’t think so. You do tend to leave the more plodding tasks to me.”

“Just one of the benefits of working for myself, Jack.”

After he left, Phryne took a long soak and came up with a plan. Her first step was to call Topper Martin and set him on an errand that would take him away from the mill.

She’d told him a visit to his brother’s rooms might turn up evidence of an affair with Virginia Dresden to support his claim she’d stolen the idea and suggested it would be less upsetting to his mother if he conducted the search himself. She then went to the factory and waited around the block until she saw him leave before heading inside.

Not knowing how much time she had before he returned, she decided to confront Fred Taylor first. To her surprise, she found him almost eager to talk.

“It was her idea, Miss Fisher, her idea alone,” he insisted.

“What do you make of Mr. Martin’s assertion that she stole the idea?”

He fidgeted, looking around the floor uncomfortably.

“Can we step outside? Away from prying eyes and ears?” He led her through the room and out a side door into the alley. He still seemed reluctant to speak.

“I’m inclined to believe that Mrs. Dresden came up with the idea for the adjustable hat band but it might be difficult to prove. Do you have any reason to think she was having an affair?” She asked.

“I heard the rumors about her. I could hardly help but hear other women snickering behind Gin’s back. But, she wasn’t having an affair with Dennis Martin.”

“Not with Dennis Martin, but with someone else, perhaps?”

“You have to understand, she was lonely, since her Tom died, even before that, with him being so sick. He took advantage. He always did seek out the more desperate ones. I tried to warn her about him.”

“I’m not here to judge. I’m just trying to get to the truth. Who was the man?”

“The new boss, Bernard Martin,” he said bitterly. “I knew he didn’t really care for her, that he was just using her, but I never imagined he’d steal from her. Maybe that’s what pushed her over the edge. I think she might have loved him.”

“Do you have any proof of the affair?” He might be telling the truth, but it might also be a way to discredit the man that was standing in his way.

“He wasn’t around much, but when he was, it wasn’t unusual for him to spend time on the floor bothering my girls. Lately, he’d turned his attention on Gin. Soon, she started disappearing around the noon hour, and coming home late after her shift. Then she tells Fannie about some ally at work. Who else could it be?”

“That’s hardly definitive.”

“You don’t believe me? You toffs always stick together.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you but I need proof. Right now it’s your word against his. Can you think of anything more? You say you tried to warn her, did she admit to the affair?”

“No, not in so many words. But I know it was him. He seduced her, used her and betrayed her, why else would she kill herself? That invention belongs to her, and she left it to her sons. You can bet I’ll do everything I can to make sure Bernard Martin never benefits from it.”

“We know you had your wife write that note, Mr. Taylor.”

His face reddened and she watched his fists clench into tight balls.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said defiantly. “I got a patent that says the invention was Gin’s and a note that says she left it to her boys. That fop Martin’s got nothing and neither he, nor his lady detective are gonna take away from us what is rightfully ours.”

He turned away, back into the factory. She knew he’d not let her approach any of the other workers now and heading back to her car. Turning a corner, she nearly ran right into Topper.

“Phryne! What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d take another shot at speaking to your employees, but I’m afraid that floor manager of yours is quite the task master! I wasn’t able to speak with anyone, I’m afraid.”

“Well, come up to my office. Have a cup of tea,” he suggested. “I found something among my brother’s things that might be of interest.”

“Oh?” She checked her watch as though in a hurry to be somewhere. She didn’t want to be alone with him again in case he tried to renew his romantic pursuit. “I’m afraid I don’t have time for tea just now. What have you found?”

“It’s a deed for a little bungalow not far from here. I thought at first that perhaps he was planning to move out of mother’s home, but what if it’s where he conducted his liaison with Virginia Dresden? I think we should go take a look at it.”

“Why don’t you let me check it out first. It’d be better for you not to be involved. Do you have the address?”

 

* * *

 

Having convinced Topper to stay behind, Phryne headed for the station unaware someone was following.

He was glad he’d kept an eye on her. He hadn’t expected her next stop to be the police, but perhaps it would work to his advantage. He was confident he could improvise if need be. He breathed a sigh of relief when she emerged alone just a minute later.

When he was sure of where she was headed next, he turned off and took a route that brought him to the alley and quickly let himself in the back. By the time she arrived he was already inside and in position listening intently as she worked her picks on the front door lock. It didn’t take her long. It wasn’t much of a lock.

In the end it was almost disappointingly easy. She’d barely had time to shut the door behind her. She’d put up a fight, but it hadn’t lasted long. He’d been able to catch her unawares and knew enough to quickly pin her arms, though she’d got in a few good kicks before the chloroform did its work.

He had a momentary flash of regret. She really was intrepid, an almost worthy adversary, but his admiration wouldn’t change what needed to be done.

Now, there was nothing left to do but wait, hopefully not too long, he was looking forward to this next bit.

* * *

 

Jack was fuming as he returned to the station. It had been another complete waste of his time. Once again, he’d been called to Russell Street to defend his work. Cooper had got wind of Phryne’s involvement in the case and accused Jack of ‘being led by the nose’ into investigations that she had an interest in.

Jack had been forced to admit that Miss Fisher had been hired by Martin Hat Mills, but was able to assure the DC that didn’t mean the investigation wasn’t a worthy one.

“I don’t work for Miss Fisher,” he’d argued. “We have a case of a large company that might be trying to commit fraud by stealing the work of an employee and reap the benefits for themselves. Miss Fisher may have been hired to protect the interests of that company but my job is to uncover the truth. And, in her defense, that is what she will do too, even if it doesn’t benefit her client.”

He’d been allowed to keep investigating, but Cooper had made it clear he was being watched. _What else is new?_ He’d thought to himself.

He hung his coat on the rack and went to grab a cup of tea to settle his temper.

“Inspector?”

“Yes, Constable?”

“There’s a message here for you. Miss Fisher wanted to make sure you got it as soon as you returned.”

Jack took the note. It contained nothing but an address scrawled in Phryne’s hand.

“Is this it? Nothing else?”

“No sir. When I told her you weren’t in, she just asked me to give you that note.”

“Thank you.” Jack smiled as he returned to his office. It was one of the small concessions she’d agreed to, to keep him from worrying. Whenever she was heading off to investigate somewhere on her own she left word, either with her household, or with him directly. He wasn’t sure what lead she was following now, but she’d fill him in later. He stuffed the note in his suit pocket and went back to work.

An hour later, having still found not paperwork concerning a hat band invention among Dennis Martin’s papers, he packed it in and headed home.

Mr. Butler came to the foyer immediately upon hearing him enter.

“Sir, I was about to phone you. There was a call for Miss Fisher of a confusing nature.”

“Confusing how?”

“A Mr. Martin phoned looking for her, he left word that he would be a little late for their dinner engagement, but Miss Fisher had specifically asked that I prepare a special meal at home this evening. I’m quite sure she wouldn’t have made other plans without informing me.”

“Perhaps it has to do with the case she’s working on. Mr. Martin is her client. Did he mention where they were to meet?”

“He left an address for me to give to her.”

Jack fished the note she’d left for him from his pocket, comparing the address to the one Mr. Butler had been given.

* * *

 

Phryne awoke with a pounding in her head, feeling more than a little disoriented. A moment later she remembered where she was and how she’d ended up on the floor. The smell of chloroform had hit her as soon as she’d stepped through the door. She was furious with herself for leaving herself exposed as she had.

She wondered how long she’d been out. Long enough for it to grow dark, apparently. When her eyes adjusted to the dim light she saw something, or rather, someone, crumpled on the floor nearby. Her blood ran cold.

He was on his back, his arms pinned awkwardly behind him, his legs bent and bound at the ankles. Most alarmingly, his head lay cocked oddly on his arched neck. He might have been a rag doll, abused and tossed aside by a spoilt child. She went to him, falling to her knees, drawing breath again, only when she saw that he still did.

“Thank heaven,” she exhaled in relief. She swept up her skirt and pulled the dagger from her garter, then pushed at his shoulder trying to turn him on his side, groping under him at the bindings around his wrists. They were smooth and silky and she realized he’d been bound with his own tie. He groaned.

“Jack!” she said, shaking him. “Jack, it’s me. Can you move?”

“Phryne,” he sighed, his voice shaky but sure. He blinked, looking up at her. “You didn’t come home.”

“So you came looking.”

“And was promptly conked on the head.”

She could imagine what had happened. He’d found her on the floor, unresponsive and, just as she had done, he’d dropped to her side leaving himself vulnerable.

“How unlike you.” She gently brushed his hair from his forehead and felt around his scalp until she found the goose egg.

“Guess I’m losing my touch.” He smiled weakly, wincing a bit as her fingers probed the tender spot.

“I wouldn’t say that. At least, not to your face.”

His smile increased, reaching his eyes and she knew he was going to be all right. It occurred to her that it was odd for someone to have bound him but left her free.

“We need to get out of here. Help me roll you so I can get these bindings off.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” A light clicked on and she looked up to see Topper Martin in the doorway at the front of the room. “Please put your hands where I can see them, Miss Fisher.”

He stepped closer and she saw the glint of a gun in his hand—her own gun— trained on her. Keeping her hands hidden behind Jack’s body, she pressed her dagger into his hand and felt him push it back. She knew he was thinking she shouldn’t give up her last line of defense but if she could distract Martin long enough for Jack to free himself, their odds of getting out of here together increased. And together was the only way they were leaving.

She let go her grip on the dagger leaving Jack no choice put to grasp it, and raised her hands in the air, keeping her eyes on Martin the whole time.

“That’s better. He came looking for you more quickly than I expected,” Martin said. “You mean a great deal to each other, don’t you? What does that feel like?”

She glanced down at Jack, all her love and fear for him flashed across her face but when she looked back up at Martin, her expression was flint hard and ice cold. She stood to draw his attention away from Jack.

“If any harm comes to him, I will hunt you down and see that you suffer horribly,” she said.

“Oh, you are endlessly entertaining. I almost hate to see this come to an end,” Martin said. “But, don’t worry your pretty head. You won’t have to watch him die. He, on the other hand will not be so fortunate.

“It’s a tragic tale, really. You see, the inspector is quite desperately in love you with—obsessed even—and when he discovered you’d betrayed him it drove him mad. I think you wouldn’t find that hard to believe, would you, Phryne? That you might be the undoing of a man?”

“Not this man,” she said, firmly. “You underestimate him.”

“I don’t think I do. I’ve seen how he looks at you. When you fell in love with me and told him were going to leave him, he snapped, strangling you with your own scarf and then shooting himself with your pistol. It is precisely because I don’t underestimate his feelings for you that this will be believed.”

She laughed. “Whatever you think you know about him, you know nothing about me. No one would ever believe I’d fall in love with you.” She looked disdainfully around the shabby little room in which they stood. “Did you lure other women here? Virginia Dresden among them? That poor woman. Did she believe you loved her?”

“Virginia turned out to be more than I’d first imagined. A bit like you, really. Adventurous, exciting and she had brains to go along with that beauty, but in the end, she became just as much a nuisance as the rest. It’s a pity she had something else I wanted, otherwise I’d have just moved on like I normally do.”

“What do you mean?” Her blood ran cold as the pieces began to fall into place. She would never have imagined he could be so cold and calculated.

“For awhile she was happy to listen to my advice regarding her invention, but then she began questioning my judgment. She started listening to that brother-in-law of hers. She was talking about filing for a patent and shopping it around to other mills. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“You killed her.”

“It wasn’t hard. It started right here, you know. She liked coming here. Our own little love nest, she called it. And she was delightful too. Adventurous, like I said. I didn’t even have to slip the drug into her tea. We’d used it together before. Have you ever tried it? Angel Trumpet? It can enhance the experience as long as you don’t take too much but it’s a very fine line. That last time, I just slipped in a little more than usual. I’ll admit, it was ugly and she clearly wasn’t enjoying it. It looked rather painful. Once she’d slipped into unconsciousness, I took her home, left her on the floor and turned on the gas, figuring one or the other would finish her off. I didn’t care which. I was in and out in less than a minute.

“I should have thought to get my hands on her notes,” he said conversationally. “That’s a bit of a problem, but not one I can’t overcome. I’m far more convincing as the brains behind the idea than or a poor, unschooled war widow. And, if I they don’t believe me, _c’est la vie._ I’ll do well enough selling my company without the patent. Especially as I no longer have to share the profits.”

“Dennis too?” She reeled slightly. This couldn’t be possible.

“You didn’t think I’d leave any obstacles in my way, did you? In for a penny, in for a pound, I always say. Besides, after the first one, I was almost eager to try again. I wasn’t entirely the allergy would do him in. It really was risky of me, but the uncertainty made it so much more fun.”

The man was a psychopath. Now that he’d started killing, she could tell he wouldn’t stop. He got a thrill from it and he would go on seeking that thrill. For the first time she was afraid of him.

“He was your brother.”

“He was a controlling, self-righteous bore. But we’re getting off track. I need you to undress for me now, Phryne. After all poor Jack caught us in a most compromising position. You know, if you’re willing to cooperate, I still have some of that Angel Trumpet pollen around. It might make it more enjoyable for you.”

She glanced quickly and saw that Jack had freed his hands. He’d had to move slowly to avoid notice. His legs were still bound and he remained a sitting duck. Topper wanted him alive until she was dead but she knew he wouldn’t be picky about the order if things went south for him. She needed to keep him focused on her but she was rocked by the revelations. He’d killed two people for no reason but his own greed. She made herself focus on the task at hand. Saving Jack, and their life together

Luckily for her, Topper was proud of what he’d done and eager to tell someone about it. The really sick ones were often like that. No remorse and a need to share what they perceived as their brilliance.

“You’re not going to get away with this,” she began. “We have friends who know us far too well to believe your preposterous scenario. They won’t let it stand unchallenged.”

“I’ve already killed two people and no one suspected a thing. Not even the remarkable Phryne Fisher. Besides, when has truth ever gotten in the way of a good bit of gossip? There are plenty that have seen evidence of our affair and they will be more than happy to talk about it. To the police, to the press, to anyone that will listen. And who will be believed? Your closest friends, who wish to salvage your sullied reputation, or more impartial witnesses?”

“What witnesses? There’s been no affair. Nothing to witness,” she scoffed.

“More than one person will attest to your having asked repeatedly about me. You wanted to know what clubs I frequent, who I spend time with, and if there were any women in my life. Sounds like a jealous lover to me. There are dozens of people who saw us dancing at that party and several that watched us leave together. You do tend to draw attention.

“Then, just yesterday, my own employees saw me showing you around my factory, while looking very enamored of you. My assistant, in particular is quite jealous. I think even you believed I wanted you, isn’t that right?”

Phryne felt the bile rise in her throat. He’d been planning this all along. A contingency if she and Jack got too close and she’d walked right into it. People would believe it. It was a titillating story of love and betrayal. He’d have the public eating out of his hands.

“You’re not as dumb as I thought,” she spat, “it’s really a shame you never bothered to do anything useful with your life.”

She saw Jack rise to his feet. Just in time. She was losing her temper and running out of ways to keep Topper distracted. If they didn’t get out of here soon she might die looking like an unfaithful tart and Jack a cuckolded fool. Worst of all, Martin would get away with murder and probably walk away an even wealthier man.

“Enough of this chit-chat, Phryne,” he said. “Get undressed and onto the bed. I’m rather looking forward to setting the stage,” he said, eyeing her lasciviously. He still held her gun, but his free hand drifted down between his legs and she was disgusted to realize he was aroused. “I’m particularly excited that Jack will be able to watch. Maybe we should make him more comfortable.”

He swiveled his head in Jack’s direction and Phryne lunged forward, grabbing the hand holding the gun and forcing it up toward the ceiling. Jack was on him in an instant, pinning Martin’s free hand behind his back, and pressing Phryne’s blade to his throat.

“Give her the gun,” he commanded.

Martin struggled and Jack gripped him tighter.

“You know, Martin, you got one thing wrong about me. I’d never hurt her. But you? I’d kill you in an instant for simply thinking of touching a hair on her head without her permission,” Jack growled. “I can make it painless, or not.”

He drew the dagger across Martin’s throat until the point rested just above his jugular vain. A drop of blood sprang from beneath the tip of the blade and rolled down his throat.

Martin flinched, either at the pain or the quiet fury in Jack’s voice. Phryne felt Topper’s hand go limp. She wrenched the weapon from him and pressed the barrel to his forehead.

Jack scooped up the remnants of his bindings and began tying Martin’s hands behind his back. The defiant sneer on the now captive man’s face set something off in Phryne.

“Don’t bother with that, Jack. We’ll call it self-defense. No one will doubt us,” she said, feeling a little thrill at the wide-eyed panic that appeared in Martin’s eyes. In the end, he really was a coward.

“You had everything. An easy life and enough money to do as you pleased but you killed your own brother, took a mother from her children. For what? More money?”

On top of everything else, he’d threatened something infinitely important to her. Her life with Jack. She could kill him. Of that she had no doubt. She’d be doing the world a favor. She cocked the gun.

Jack looked up from his efforts and caught her eye. He shook his head slightly and without a word told her that he knew she was better than that. Her anger evaporated.

With Martin now firmly in Jack’s grip, she lowered the gun. They were walking him out the front of the house when Constable Collins and several other officers came running up the path.

“Mr. Butler called when neither of you returned home,” he explained, without anyone having asked.

“You can always count on Mr. B,” Phryne said. Jack had to agree. The man was worth ten times whatever Phryne paid him.

Hugh took custody of the prisoner, exchanging Jack’s tattered tie for handcuffs and leading Martin away. Jack looked sadly at the torn remnants.

“I liked that tie.”

“We’ll find you a new one,” she smiled weakly, suddenly feeling very weary. “Would you mind if I sat this interrogation out? I think I’d like to go home.”

“Are you all right?” He looked at her with concern. It was most unlike her to pass up a chance to share in the triumph of getting a full confession.

“I’m fine. It must be residual effects of the chloroform. Perhaps, one of your officers could drive me home? I don’t trust myself behind the wheel.”

“Now I’m really worried. I’m taking you home myself.”

“Jack, I’m fine.”

“Even so, I don’t trust any of my officers with your car and I’d never hear the end of it if any damage were to result. I’ll drop you home on my way to the station.” He wanted to keep an eye on her and intended to hurry back to her as soon as possible. She was as shaken as he’d ever seen her.


	11. Chapter 11

“Miss? The inspector is here,” Mr. Butler called through the door. “He’s said you’re not to rush. I believe he was going to unpack some things while he waits. I just thought you might like to know he’d arrived.”

“Thank you Mr. B, please tell him I’ll be down shortly.”

Phryne sank down in the tub until she was completely submerged. She liked the complete silence the watery surrounding provided, but it wasn’t as peaceful as she usually found it to be. The talking in her head was too loud and persistent.

She’d been so stupid. Her own ego blinding her to what was right in front of her face. She’d not questioned Topper’s attraction to her. As often as she used flirtation to her advantage, she should have seen it when the same tactic was used on her. Her arrogance had allowed Martin to set the trap and she’d led Jack right into it.

Had Martin succeeded, the memory of their partnership would have died along with them. All their accomplishments and what they mean to each other would have disappeared in a cloud of salacious scandal.

She had no doubt his story would have been believed, maybe not by those closest to them, but by everyone else. She cringed now, thinking of her conversation with Lillian at that party. How Lillian had mocked the idea that she could ever be romantically committed and how she’d encouraged that thinking because it suited her needs.

She knew Jack would say none of it mattered, that she was only doing what was needed to forward their case but even his words in her head couldn’t shake her disquiet. She pulled herself from the water, dried off and quickly dressed for dinner, ringing for Dot to come help her with her hair.

“You’re quiet tonight, Miss,” Dot said. Usually Miss Phryne was very talkative after solving a case. Tonight, she’d barely uttered a word. “We’re you very scared?”

“Hmm? Oh, no Dot. It was nothing. I’m fine,” she said distractedly.

“I saw Inspector Robinson in the library just now. He has a lot of books, doesn’t he?”

Phryne laughed. “Quite a lot, yes.”

Talking about the inspector always seemed to lift Miss Phryne’s spirits, so Dot kept on.

“I’ve thought of a way to help with the story,” she said.

“Story?”

“When I’m at the market, or having tea with the other neighborhood girls, I can complain about how you’re renting out a room and say how I hope it won’t mean a lot more work for me.”

“Oh. Good thinking,” Phryne said thinly, as the girl chattered on.

“Not that I think the inspector will be any trouble, really. He’s quite different when he’s not working, isn’t he? I’d no idea he was such a jolly man! He has a wonderful laugh, don’t you think?”

“Yes. I do,” Phryne said.

There was a small smile, but Miss Phryne’s eyes seemed to brim with tears. Dot didn’t know what to make of that and continued her attentions in silence from then on.

* * *

 

Phryne leaned in the doorway, watching Jack with his books. He was trying to organize them to fit in with Mr. Butler’s system. After a minute she walked over and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her head against his back. He covered her hands with his.

“Feeling better? I was worried about you.” He felt her nod her head and turned to take her in his arms. She clung to him in a most uncharacteristic way, almost desperately. “Are you sure you’re all right, Phryne?"

“Mmm hmm,” she pulled back to look at him, resting her hands on his chest. “I’m just very glad you’re here.”

“Well, I’m glad to be here too,” he said, smiling down on her and caressing her cheek. They’d had too close a call today and he was very happy they were both still here.

“Jack?” she said.

“Yes?”

“Do you want to get married?”

He blinked rapidly.

“Is this idle curiosity, or did you just propose to me, Miss Fisher?” he asked, drolly.

“Answer my question.” She stepped back looking him in the eye, her expression serious.

“It’s a loaded question, Phryne. And my answer depends on what exactly you’re asking. If you’re asking about the institution in general, then I’m not sure what to say anymore. I’ve sometimes thought I might marry again but now I don’t know that I see the need. We’re together. That’s enough for me.”

“Really? It won’t be enough for other people. Martin was right about that. To the outside world, our commitment appears a tenuous one.”

“You’re not going to let anything that madman said bother you, are you?”

“Do you _not_ want to marry me?” she said, looking a little dejected.

“I didn’t say that.” This time his usually unflappable expression faltered. “You’ve never wanted to get married. You’ve never even mentioned it with anything but scorn. What’s going on here?”

“I might have evolved in my thinking.”

“Because of Martin? This isn’t like you. You’re alarming me Phryne, and confusing the hell out of me as well.”

“What if we had died today? What would we leave behind to show what we were to each other?”

“Show who?”

“The world, Jack.” She walked away to stand staring out the window. “If we’d died today, I’d have been laid in the ground next to Janey and Arthur, which would be fine I suppose, but where would you be? You could be miles away, in the Robinson family plot—I assume there is one— and history would never know that you were supposed to be with me.”

“Good lord. You’re talking about our bones. We didn’t die, we’re still here and we’re together. We can make arrangements so that when we do die we’ll be laid side by side, if you like. In fact, if we’re very lucky, we’ll die of old age in our sleep, our ancient hands entwined. They’ll have to build us a double coffin, because rigor mortis will have set in and they won’t be able to pry us apart,” he said, flippantly.

“You’re a beast.” She stilled faced away from him and was gazing at the darkness outside.

Perhaps trying to make light of the conversation had not been the right move. He went to her, wrapping his arms around her. She leaned back against him.

“Phryne, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make fun but I can’t bring myself to be too concerned over where my decaying corpse is laid. What’s going on?” he said softly. “We’ve been in scrapes before. Why has this one upset you so?”

“What if he’d succeeded today, Jack? It bothers me to know that his story about us would have been so easily believed.”

“He didn’t succeed. His story will never be heard, much less believed.”

“But there are people who will never take us seriously, you and I. Even the society pages are still printing any photo they can get their hands on of me with any man I stand next to long enough. Isn’t that hurtful to you?”

“I’ve learned not to let that bother me. You look good in those photos and I know what’s real. What anyone else thinks doesn’t matter.”

“That’s what we keep saying but if doesn’t matter, why did we feel the need to create the pretense of you renting a room from me?”

“Well, for the sake of propriety,” he said, reasonably. “People will look the other way but we can’t really flaunt the fact that we’re defying societal norms, at least not if I hope to keep my position. A moral conduct breach would be just the kind of thing DC Cooper would love use against me.”

“Which is exactly my point, Jack. We’ve had to come up with a ludicrous lie for the sake of propriety and when we’re in public we’ll have to pretend to be so much less than we are to each other. This isn’t living by our own rules and _‘society be damned’_. This isn’t freedom.”

He hadn’t really thought of it that way. Their story didn’t leave much room for public displays of affection. Not that they’d ever been overly affectionate in public anyway but there had been the odd quiet table in a dark restaurant, or long walk on the shore holding her hand.

“What’s the alternative?” he asked. “Should I stay in my own place and we continue as we’ve been? I still have the lease.”

He couldn’t help feeling like the bottom had dropped out and all their plans we’re disintegrating, along with his happiness.

“No! We’re not living apart anymore. The alternative is to get married.”

“This is what I meant by leaping ahead without thinking or talking things through, Phryne! Marriage is not to be taken lightly. Especially when I consider that you’ve _never_ wanted to get married!”

“I’m not taking this lightly. We can have as many conversations as you need. I never wanted to marry because I didn’t believe an equal partnership could exist. My closest experience with marriage was watching my mother devote herself to a man that did as he pleased with little regard for her feelings or well-being, all while insisting how he adored her. It seemed to me that even in the good marriages the wife always took a back seat to her husband, disappearing as an individual person. But, I think we’d be different. We’re not like that. This” she waved her hand between them, “This isn’t like that.”

“You couldn’t take a back seat or disappear if you tried. But Phryne, do you realize what you’re saying? If I ever were to marry again, I want it to be for life.”

“I know that. I never make big life decisions without considering them thoroughly, whatever others might think. I want to spend my life with you. I want to be able to touch you in public, hang on your arm, and tell the world about this wonderful man of mine. The only reason I haven’t married you already is because I always said I’d never marry anyone and that’s not a good reason. Well, that and the fact that you’ve never asked.”

“You mean this? You want to get married? To me?”

“I do. And, of course to you. Who else?”

“You want me to propose?” His head was spinning. He wondered if perhaps he really had died, or was dying, and this was all some sick fantasy of his subconscious.

“No, it’s too late for that. I’ve already proposed to you. I realize I didn’t get down on one knee, so I’ll forgive you for not recognize it. This time I’ll be perfectly clear—though I’ll remain standing, if you don’t mind—Jack Robinson. Will you marry me?”

He huffed slightly in disbelief and actually gave himself a little pinch. He was awake. She was standing in front of him awaiting his answer.

“Name the day,” he said.

She threw her arms around his neck. He lifted her from the ground, holding her tight and spinning them around as she laughed. He set her down and gave her a quick but intense kiss.

“I’d marry you tomorrow, Jack, but there are a few legalities to iron out and—just so you know— I’m keeping my name.”

“Of course. I couldn’t bear a world without Phryne Fisher in it but is it all right if I give you a ring? You needn’t always wear it.”

He already had one in mind. It was a less than traditional Scottish wedding ring that had belonged to his less than conventional Scottish grandmother. She’d have adored Phryne and he’d often thought of giving her the ring, but had worried about the symbolism behind it. He hoped she’d accept it now. Seeing the white gold band with its elaborately engraved thistle design and square cut ruby on her delicate hand would give him no end of joy.

“I’d be honored to wear your ring, Jack.” Her breath caught in her chest at his pleased and slightly bashful expression. She knew that once he placed it on her hand, she’d never take it off.

“Then, I guess it’s settled,” he said, happily. “You sort out the legalities. I’ll sign whatever you need me to sign and we’ll get this done.”

“You wouldn’t want a church wedding, would you?”

“Heavens no! The registrar’s office is fine.”

“I think we can do better than that. We’ll get a judge to come here and make a party of it.”

“A small party, Phryne. Just the family?”

“All right. Dot, Hugh, Jane and Mr. Butler; Bert and Cec, and Mac of course. No one else?”

“There may be one or two more people I wouldn’t mind having.”

“Invite anyone you’d like, darling. What about Aunt P?”

“I’m sure she’d prefer the invitation come from you," he said with a smirk. "Are we really doing this, Phryne? You can still change your mind, you know.” The entire conversation felt surreal.

“I’m not changing my mind. You’re already my husband in all but name and it’s time we corrected that. Not because it’s expected, or because it will make things easier, but because you’re my partner, my companion, and the man I love. I want everyone to know that, because I’m proud of what we have. This is what I want. I hope it’s what you want too.”

“It is. More than anything,” he managed to croak out over the lump in his throat.

 

**Epilogue**

Jack set the box down inside the foyer. He’d moved most his wardrobe already. Bert and Cec had helped with the furniture a few days earlier and one large box had turned out to be more than enough to hold anything left after that.

“Well, Miss Fisher, I’m officially moved in. That’s everything.”

“Not quite everything. Isn’t it traditional to carry your bride over the threshold?”

She stood on the landing just outside the open door, her left hand raised, her fingers wriggling to make the red stone glisten in the light.

“Into her own home? Where she’s lived for years?” Jack complained.

“Don’t be such a stickler for details, Inspector. And it’s our home now.”

He gave a tilt of his head as if considering it, then strode swiftly to her, sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her though the door. He paused briefly in the entryway before heading straight up the stairs toward the bedroom.

“Mr. Butler?” he called. “Could you please close the front door? It seems I have my hands full.”

“Of course, sir.” Mr. Butler closed the door, smiling at the sound of laughter raining down from above. He went to the kitchen to turn down the temperature on the stove. Supper might have to wait awhile.


End file.
